Honor Bound
by Kristen999
Summary: Sometimes all that matters are the codes and values you uphold. A deadly vendetta will test loyalties, limits and friendships, with more at stake than anyone realizes. Contains Shep Whump. John,Ronon, Rodney Friendship
1. Chapter 1

Title: "Honor Bound"  
Author: Kristen999  
Character(s): Sheppard, Ronon, Rodney (Friendship) Appearances from the rest.  
Genre(s): Stargate Atlantis: Gen. Angst. H/C.  
Rating: T for language and violence  
Summary: Sometimes all that matters are the codes and values you uphold. A deadly vendetta will test loyalties, limits and friendships, with more at stake than anyone realizes. Contains Shep Whump.

Spoilers: Will play around with what could have happened between "Sateda" and "Common Ground".

Notes: This is my first multi-chapter Atlantis fic. I'll be posting a chapter every few days, until it's complete. I want to thank Beth for all of her help, prodding, and changing all that red to purple. I also want to thank Mandy for all of her invaluable encouragement and suggestions. You gals rock!

* * *

The power behind any ambush is the concealment of tactical advantage. Laying in wait until the last possible moment when the targets are caught off guard and never given a chance to recover. It was perfect really, nearly three miles from the gate. Just far enough to be an issue if things got messy. They were following a worn path through a bamboo forest. The area was dry, really dry. Where the area wasn't crammed with an endless supply of toothpicks, thousands of shriveled vines encompassed everything else, like kudzu did back on Earth.

A low level energy source disrupted communications and gave them a three hour window to touch base with Atlantis. Funny how that was two more too long to do any good.

"We've got to find better cover!" Sheppard shouted as something whizzed by his left ear.

"Ya think?" Rodney's panicked voice was drowned out as bullets rang through the air from multiple directions.

"We need to get out of this crossfire," Ronon grunted, his gun blasting back at two of their attackers hidden by an ocean of tall bamboo trees.

Teyla crouched by Sheppard, firing in the direction of the men taking pot shots at Ronon's position.

The thick rods of browns and tans camouflaged the enemy. The team was pinned down by at least a dozen men, a few of which perched high in the heartiest of trees. Each team member huddled low, using the clumps of wood for protection as the air filled with increased fire behind and above them. It was a simple, effective trap; basic Ambush 101 type stuff and they... no _he _fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. Walked right into the snare like some green recruit.

Sheppard was pissed. If they all got out of this in one piece, not only were those responsible for their current predicament going to feel his wrath, but he was going to drill every team leader in the signs of ambushes and impose more training in detecting them sooner. The woods snapped all around them, bamboo splitting as projectiles cut the rods in half. Sheppard clung to one advantage. They couldn't see the bad guys, so their attackers couldn't see clearly either, shooting blindly at the team's likely locations.

Time to run, recover, and mount an offense.

The terrain several hundred yards ahead seemed impenetrable, with large stumps, fallen trees and tangles of roots that could provide cover. The problem was the open path leading towards the protection, the plants thinning out into a clearing first. Fed up, Sheppard pointed his P90 at the goons hidden above them. He squeezed the trigger, showering the snipers with heavy fire.

"Teyla! Concentrate on our pals across the way!" Then he yelled at Ronon. "Keep your focus on the ones hidden in the trees! We have greater fire power and can overwhelm them!"

With the team's automatic weapons, their opponents were unable to get any shots off during barrages. The P90 vibrated in his hands as Sheppard shouted at Rodney. "Run for that cover!"

"Are you kidding me?"

Sheppard screamed over the roar of ammunition. "Now, McKay!"

The physicist weaved and bobbed just like he did during the weekly training sessions that Sheppard forced most of his non-military members to undergo. Rodney should have had enough off world experience and encounters to be an expert by now.

The air grew acidic, choked with gunpowder and the dry heat of the planet. Combining their firepower kept the enemy pinned down long enough for Rodney to disappear behind the woody brush.

Sheppard watched a body fall to the ground from the high tree tops as he bombarded the area with heavy fire. One more crashed through the canopy, a casualty of Ronon's weapon.

Two down.

Teyla sent short bursts at three locations as the enemy separated into smaller groups and split off. It would be nice to have a single front to concentrate on instead of being faced by a three prong attack on the ground and sniper nests above. The Athosian aimed at a cluster of fighters inching closer. She rolled away barely in time as those at her four o'clock peppered the area where she had just been crouched.

"They are gaining ground," Ronon warned, blasting red bolts at the tops of the tree line and alternating to cover Teyla.

Splinters of the smooth bark hailed down on Sheppard's head, the snipers pinpointing the large trunk he hid behind. A second set of men converged on them from the left. He dived, spun, and fired another array into the highest of the trees. Then he scrambled to take up point behind a pair of olive stalks and stuck the barrel of his weapon in the empty space between both, shelling the other enemy group and preventing them from gaining ground.

He really needed to carry heavier ordnance on these missions. A good grenade or two. Right now it was time to get the others out of harm's way. That started with taking out one of the three sets of hostiles.

"Teyla, cover me!"

"What are you doing, John?" But she sent a wide spray of suppression fire into the forest as he took off.

He heard a scream as another enemy fighter took a swan dive as a result of Ronon's accurate shot. Sheppard recognized a flanking maneuver when he saw one and was determined to stop it. He kept low, with a keen sense of where his targets were going, and circled behind them. He made sure his feet didn't crunch on any of the dry vegetation as he approached. The ground was dry, dark sand mixed with mulch and all the brittle bamboo made it tough to be stealthy.

He could make out four men dressed in earth toned, militaristic clothes, but not matching uniforms. They blended well with the rest of the autumn colors of the planet and each gripped a rifle. None of the soldiers carried any backpacks nor did they seem heavily supplied. That was good, Sheppard thought. If they were not prepared for a long offensive, maybe the team's ammunition would outlast them. He saw the four men pause as Teyla concentrated her cannonade at another unit. The soldiers took this opportunity to attack while her attention was diverted.

Sheppard stepped quietly, creeping closer to the unsuspecting men. There was a tan and green shoot, thick as an oak that he leaned on for cover. As four of his quarry prepared to blitz his team again, he didn't hesitate, squeezing the trigger, taking them all out in surprise. He quickly searched them for weapons, pocketing a couple of small handguns.

The rat-a-tat-tats increased in ferocity, gunfire erupting into a non-stop fury ahead of him. Sheppard double timed it back, his chest heaving, every breath choking on the heavy scents of spent gunpowder and gun oil. The thunder of the fire fight consumed all sounds around him. He continued his mad dash through the jungle, ducking limbs and vines that smacked him in the face as he passed.

Red streaks of death blazed trails in the sea of brown. Ronon was giving away his position with his weapon, shooting up at the sniper nests, then with more volleys deep into the woods.

Breathing hard, Sheppard used the red bursts to find his way back. A trail of heat singed his arm, a slug grazing his bicep. He spun to counter, but there were too many bullets flying and he ended up diving to the ground a few feet from Teyla.

"What the hell happened?"

Teyla covered him while he scrambled to his knees. "Reinforcements merged with the two groups we were trying to take out when you left."

"Well that's just great."

"They're all raiding at us at once," Ronon grunted between shots.

"Let's get to that overgrowth. We need to re-group with McKay." He reloaded his clip again and tried to slow down his breathing. "How many more are in the trees?"

Ronon answered with a blast from his gun. The satisfying crash of another bad guy made the Satedan smile. "Last one."

"That's something," Sheppard muttered.

"We can use a heavy stream of fire to give us enough time for escape," Teyla suggested.

"Agreed. We have less to worry about when we're not having to watch over our heads."

Sheppard waited until the rest were ready. "On my count, we'll barrage them, then make a break for it."

The three sent a wall of lead in the direction of their pursuers, ripping apart the thicket and sending their enemy to the ground with the force of their automatic fire. Then they ran, driving through the forest before the enemy recovered enough to know what happened.

Ronon arrived first at the mess of roots and stumps of gigantic trees, slowing down enough to figure a way through the tangled barrier. There were dozens of fallen, dying trees, creating a dumping ground of rot. Sheppard followed Teyla through the jungle gym.

"Thank goodness for small miracles," he mumbled as he ducked down and climbed over discarded bamboo as large as logs.

"It would appear that this forest had been used to harvest resources and this is an abandoned pile of leftovers." Teyla peered through an opening in some of the debris. "I think that clearing may have been a landing area at one point."

Sheppard walked over to her, wiping sweat from his brow and looking for their missing member. "Where's Rodney?"

Sheppard expected the physicist to be huddled behind a tree, but he was nowhere to be seen. His pulse went into overdrive, eyes searching the unexplored area. "Damn it, McKay, where did you go?"

Teyla and Ronon took up places behind a large pile of wood, each glancing back in hopes of finding their missing friend.

"Stay on point, I'll look for--" He froze, ears honed in on a strangled cry. "Stay put!" he hollered over his shoulder, his feet already running.

One rule in the military dictated that you didn't split up; dividing up your numbers was detrimental to any success. Of course, that was contradicted by that other pesky rule about protecting every member of the team. He hadn't gone far when he heard a familiar voice groan.

"Over here! ... God, this is so bad!"

Sheppard spotted McKay on the ground, his face screwed up in intense pain, his left foot caught in a hole. The way Rodney was writhing, his hands clutching at his ankle, reminded him of a trapped wild animal's desperation. By the time he crouched down to inspect the injury Sheppard knew why.

"Jesus, McKay!" he swore, not really angry with his friend, but enraged at what he saw.

"Get it out, Sheppard!" Rodney panted, his cheeks rosy, perspiration glistening on his forehead.

"Shhh, I know it hurts, but you've got to keep still," Sheppard commanded.

Taking a deep breath, he took out his knife and dug around the booby trap revealing several sharp spikes concealed by a layer of dirt. Rodney had two sharp pieces of wood embedded in the heel of his boot, obviously puncturing the man's foot.

Sheppard had never served in the jungle, his tours of duty consisting of arid dunes, sand, and sky. But he'd been taught how to deal with this type of trap and quickly dug around the tiny wooden daggers tracing the ends buried in the harder soil underneath.

"I'm going to cut the spikes, then pull them out. It's going to hurt, but you can't cry out. We have to get back to the others."

According to one of his commanding officers, during the heat of battle there wasn't time for compassion. Acknowledging there was a kernel of truth in that load of bull Sheppard tried to detach himself far enough to ignore his friend's pain. "Just give me a minute," he begged, his voice reassuring.

Rodney, to his credit could have screamed his head off. But, knowing the consequences of giving away their location, he bit his lip, latching on so hard, a trickle of blood ran down his mouth.

Sheppard was proud of the man. "It's just a scratch," he joked.

The scientist's face flushed even redder with indignation. "Just a scratch? I've been stabbed. I have two massive wounds in my foot. Carson's probably going to have to amputate if I don't bleed to death."

Sheppard's blade made quick work of the primitive trap and sliced through the brittle wood. He freed the injured foot, blood dripping over the laces. He verified that only one of the spikes had gone all the way through the man's sole and out the top part of the shoe.

"Hang in there just a little longer."

"I'm going to lose all my toes. I'll have a permanent limp." Rodney groaned before biting his hand. Then he began panicking again. "What if it's poisoned or laced with a toxin?"

"It's not."

"What if it is?"

"Going to pull them out now." Sheppard wasn't going down the road of worst case scenarios right now.

"You're not a dentist and these are not my teeth, colonel!"

There wasn't time to mess around. "One... two... three."

Sheppard yanked the one jutting out from the sole. Rodney struggled to hold back a scream. Then he pulled the one that went all the way through in one fell swoop, his friend rolling to his side to cover his cry.

He wanted to inspect the injury further, but they couldn't afford that luxury right now. "Come on, we have to head back." There had been no sounds of gunfire and the silence had him more worried.

He slung Rodney's arm around his shoulder, his P90 trained in front of him as they limped back towards the debris pile. Rodney hopped as best he could, complaining under his breath the entire time, his 9mil ready in his other hand if needed.

Sheppard watched for movement and scanned for anything suspicious, every sense on high alert. There was no such thing as laying a single booby trap. He wrestled with his new burden, a hand wrapped around his friend's waist, his eyes flicking over every inch of soil.

Any section of uneven ground or speck of dirt was suspect. They lay in wait; devices to maim, blind, or kill. His t-shirt underneath was soaked through with sweat and his armed throbbed, but all that mattered was his vigilance.

Searching... searching... then he saw it.

"Whoa!" Sheppard froze, Rodney nearly tumbling over from the sudden halt in momentum.

"What the hell was that for?"

His boots dug in, skidding before an invisible wire that crossed in front of them, the sunlight reflecting off of it the only clue of its existence. It was a wonder he hadn't triggered it during his frantic run earlier. "Don't move," he snapped, as he felt the physicist begin to fidget, trying to regain his balance.

"What now? I mean jeesh, isn't it bad enough that I can't walk? Now you're trying to trip me and break my leg on top of---"

"Quiet!"

Rodney finally came to grips and peered down at what was holding Sheppard's rapt attention.

"Is that a ...um... trip wire?"

"Yes."

"But...you haven't triggered it...right?"

"No, I haven't. And I'd like to avoid that if I can," he growled, following the wire to where it disappeared on each side of a tree.

He swore he could hear his heart bang against his sternum, and Rodney's rapid breathing was a dead giveaway in the now eerie hush of the jungle. The silence was interrupted by a shot that was soon followed by another.

"I'm going to walk over it, then help you."

Rodney's eyes widened. "Are you n--"

"Not now!" He drew in a breath and began carefully stepping over the tripwire.

He could feel all four chambers of his heart pump wildly, chaotic surges of adrenaline flooding his system. Damn if the enemy couldn't hear all the frantic thumping. Calm. He had to remain calm: for Rodney, for Teyla and Ronon. His focus stayed glued to the ground, easing his right leg over the deadly threat, then the left. He then guided Rodney over, the physicist's arms pinwheeling madly as he fought to stay upright.

The occasional echo of gunfire had been increasing steadily, from random intervals to constant hammering. Sheppard burned with the desire to plow ahead, but the ground was just as deadly as a bullet. They moved methodically and his anxiety level sky-rocketed as it occurred to him how many other obstacles he had missed the first time in his haste to find Rodney. Every step, every crunch of dirt under his boots could lead to new surprises in the form of spikes, bombs, or snares.

In the dead falls of trees ahead, Ronon's braided head could be seen ducking down, then popping up like a jack in a box. Teyla risked a fleeting glance in their direction, her visible relief short lived as she returned another scattering of bullets. Sheppard hurried as fast as he could, Rodney trying his best to keep up at his side, surprisingly silent.

Sheppard deposited his friend near a clump of stumps, the scientist leaning heavily to keep pressure off his injury but keeping his weapon ready. They were all soldiers now.

He didn't know whether to be incredibl**y** proud or disheartened at the sight.

They waited, but once again, the forest fell into silence.

"This area is booby trapped." Ronon used his weapon to point east of where he and Rodney had just returned from. "I disarmed a crude explosive device over there."

_This day is just getting worse._ "Yeah, Rodney got caught in something more archaic; his foot's a mess." He worked his jaw back and forth. "I think this was a set up."

Teyla's eyes cautiously swept the hushed woods before checking up on Rodney, who for once waved her away. "You think we were driven here?"

Another lure. Whoever these people were, their tactics were sound. The amount of planning involved in this ambush had taken a lot of time and effort. It bothered him the layered complexity of these engagements.

"Doubling back to the gate is gonna be difficult. I think the whole area behind us is filled with more fun toys."

"They're backing off, waiting to see what we're going to do," Ronon pointed out.

Everyone noticed another lull in the bombardment.

"They might be re-grouping. They don't have a lot of extra ammunition, probably saving it. Hoping their little tricks will catch us off guard," Sheppard theorized.

His eyes flicked to the spot Ronon had pointed out. "What type of explosive device?" he asked, his brain working a mile a minute.

The largest member of his team paused. "Crude. A wire attached to a container of fuel."

Sheppard's eyes brightened. "Fuel?"

"Yeah." Then, after a beat, Ronon grinned.

"Um, excuse me, but are you two going to clue in the intelligent one before he passes out from blood loss and pain?" Rodney grumbled, using his sleeve to mop at his forehead.

Teyla tended to him, using the lull to remove his shoe and wrap a dressing over his foot. McKay grunted and fussed when she applied pressure to the bandage.

"Careful! You could cause nerve damage."

She looked at him calmly. "You will be fine."

"I wonder how many more are around," Sheppard murmured, actually seeking out the concealed hazards.

"Are you looking to get blown up now?" Rodney accused.

He didn't reply. Insteadhe squatted down next to a camouflaged container, hand following another sinister thread waiting to be set off. The trigger was simplistic and he easily defused it. The jug sloshed as he lifted it, examining how much fuel was inside.

Ronon came over with an inquisitive expression. "What do you plan to do with that?"

Sheppard grinned devilishly. "Something that might be really impressive if I could find some more," he said, holding up the explosive liquid.

Ronon and he may not have seemed alike in many ways, but they shared more in common than any outside observer would assume. Sheppard didn't need to elaborate; the warrior took off without any words exchanged between them.

Sheppard then went over to check on Rodney. The physicist sat at the base of a large stump, enjoying the brief reprieve. The white bandage on his foot was already soaked through with red but didn't appear to be too serious yet.

"This sucks more than you know," Rodney whispered, his foot obviously throbbing in pain.

"I stepped on a nail once," Sheppard offered, then went to stand guard.

"They are waiting," Teyla warned, the quiet unnerving them all.

"How many clips do you have left?" Sheppard didn't want to panic, but the last he checked he only had one extra.

Her expression was all he needed to know. If their reserves were this low then the bad guys had to be worse. If they weren't getting re-supplied.

Rodney chewed on his fist. They had morphine but Sheppard couldn't risk giving the man something that'd dull his reflexes too much. He hated the decision and when he met these soldiers face to face, he'd take it out on them.

Ronon reappeared as quickly as he'd left, carrying two more containers. "You thinking what I think you are?" the burly man inquired, handing the items over.

Sheppard only needed a moment to take stock of how much they could use. "Yeah, we turn the tables on our friends."

* * *

Out-numbered, probably out-gunned, and cut off from escape was already plenty to contend with, but their pursuers had gotten restless. As soon as he and Ronon had finished pouring the small amounts of fuel over the decayed piles of trees, the onslaught began.

The forest roared with the sound of Teyla's P90, her suppression fire allowing Sheppard time to create a circumference around the their little fort, making sure that he splashed enough on the base of the bamboo stalks.

"Are you done yet? Because our friends aren't going to politely wait for you to finish," Rodney whined, noting that groups of the enemy had merged to form a single line.

"Let them come!" Sheppard shouted.

Ronon grabbed Rodney, pulling him back before he could trigger any more hidden booby traps.

The enemy soldiers maneuvered around the junk piles of stumps, a few using sections to hide behind and set up new positions. Others filed into the clearing that they had just vacated, falling back to one side. Despite taking several losses, more men forged forward, obviously larger in number from reinforcements.

Their attackers spotted the team's close proximity and began shooting. Sheppard ducked, several bullets just missing him. He came back up shouting, "Now!"

Ronon aimed his weapon and blasted the hidden container of fuel, engulfing the dry stalks of decayed wood. The fire erupted, eating up everything in its path. A ring of flames quickly burned over the trail of gasoline Sheppard had meticulously poured in a circle, trapping most of the enemy unit caught in the dumping ground. The woods filled with the screams of the soldiers and the team escaped during the chaos the fire created.

Sheppard bit his lip, ears filled with the voice of Johnny Cash.

_I went down, down, down, down and the flames went higher. And it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire. The ring of fire._

They had to move faster. Ronon stopped long enough to haul an irate McKay over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Just enjoy the ride," the man grunted, despite livid protests from the scientist.

Three miles or more to the gate and the woods behind them crackled and raged. The plan was working too well; the fire spread, following them. The only good thing about the wall of blazing death, was that it ensured the enemy was too occupied to give chase.

He didn't have time to dwell on death, or figure out what the hell had gone wrong this time. Sheppard was intent on survival and making sure everyone made it back in one piece. He hated the unknown, wondered who or what had set up this little fiasco, not even able to identify those who had ambushed them. He tried to push other dark thoughts aside, but something wasn't quite right. The forces should have easily overtaken them, but there was no time for paranoia so he focused on his team's safety.

Twenty minutes later the gate was in sight. Hundreds of yards became tens and one group's salvation became another's fury.

The attack was clumsy, filled with reckless hate and desire for vengeance. Six men rushed them, too much fury to waste time with guns. Maybe the guerrillas were out of ammo, but it didn't matter. Sheppard was tackled by a burly man who was on top of him immediately. He blocked a right jab and punched the guy right in the mouth, bone and flesh crunching with the impact. Enemy A reminded him of Gary Busey; wild sandy hair, insane blue eyes and a face old beyond the man's years.

Apparently Gary had a lantern jaw as he was not even fazed or too pissed to care. Gary grabbed a fistful of his vest, hoisting him up to meet another swinging fist. Sheppard blocked it again, but not the downward motion of the guy's elbow right into his sternum, once, then twice. Pain lanced through his chest but he ignored it. Instead he jabbed the combatant in the throat with his left hand.

Gary wheezed and it was just the moment Sheppard needed to knock him over, digging his knee into the man's gut and sending him flying off. Sheppard rocketed to his feet, eyes locating where his P90 lay after being knocked away in the struggle. His fingertips brushed over it and he pulled it into his arms, aiming point blank at Gary's chest. The damn thing jammed and he threw it to the ground in disgust.

Gary recovered and staggered to his feet. Seeing that the colonel had been disarmed, the bad guy pulled out a hand gun. _Enough of this_, Sheppard thought. He launched forward, kicked it out of the soldier's hand and then grabbed Gary by the shoulders and drove a knee into the wrinkled face. Blood spurted out as Sheppard broke the man's nose and the brute crumpled to the ground.

Teyla fended off two more bad guys as all the battles deteriorated to hand to hand. Rodney's 9 mil wavered from solider to solider, the physicist not confident enough to shoot any of them in apparent fear of injuring his team mate. Teyla wrenched Goon One's hand back until his wrist snapped, then landed a three punch combo that sent the guy staggering. Goon Two rushed at the Athosian, but Rodney stuck out his leg, tripping him. Unfortunately, he used the leg with his bad foot and fell to the ground in a heap of agony. Teyla's well placed kicks to the head and belly of her adversary kept the guy down, which allowed her to see to her fallen comrade.

Assured that those two were holding their own, Sheppard had a split decision to make. Three men circled Ronon, all of them wielding a knife. The Satedan could hold his own, but it quickly became an unfair fight when one of the three threw dirt in Ronon's face.

Ronon's roar was the exact moment Sheppard chose to even up the match, taking on a dark haired guy with a long knife scar that ran down the corner of the left eye, across his cheek and down the brute's chin. Scarface intended to stab Ronon from behind while the big guy lashed out blindly at the two in front of him.

Sheppard pulled out his 9 mil but, unlike Scarface, wouldn't shoot a man in the back. He crept up from behind and slammed the handle of his automatic against the base of the goon's skull. Scarface's knees buckled as he slumped to the ground. Ronon easily dodged the other two's blades, despite his eyes still being irritated from the dirt. A leg sweep and a few well placed thrusts and both bad guys were on the ground.

Confident that Ronon had the upper hand, Sheppard decided to check back with Teyla and Rodney. He hadn't managed a step when he heard a noise. A noise he _felt_ in the pit of his stomach. The unmistakable _click_ of a P90 just before firing. And it was right behind him.

He whirled around in time to see Gary's face go red with rage, Sheppard's very own P90 aimed at the back of its owner's skull.

"I coulda told you it was jammed," Sheppard taunted with a wry smile.

Gary's face turned even redder and Sheppard wasn't fast enough to avoid the butt of his own rifle as it was brutally slammed into the side of his head. He heard the crack of metal on bone just before his vision filled with stars. The world grayed around the edges and the ground rushed up to meet him. As he dropped he caught sight of Ronon loosing his blaster on Gary, taking out the sneaky SOB.

"Can you stand?" Ronon's voice cut through the buzzing in his head.

"Uh..." It was the only word he could utter before someone hauled him to his unsteady feet.

Ronon's hand kept him from swaying. "Come on, McKay's dialing Atlantis."

The jungle was filled with a dull roar, or was the noise in his head? Sheppard wasn't very sure, but he could make out the worried look Teyla gave him as Ronon guided him over to the gate. Teyla helped Rodney over to the familiar field of crystal blue, the colonel taking one last look at all the fallen men on the ground. He really wanted to take one of them along for interrogation later, but wasn't too stunned to remember the fire raging towards them.

Teyla led Rodney through the gate and Ronon urged Sheppard through, one hand on his elbow. As the liquid light glistened, he could have sworn that he spotted something mechanical in the sky. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been natural, but before he could ascertain what it might be, they were back at Atlantis.

* * *

He studied the images from the aerial drone. A live test demonstrated reflex, cognitive skills, and the very elements of a soldier's psyche. How a person performed under battle was one thing, but to pit them against a variety of obstacles with other lives in the balance? That exposed the true core of any man.

The Hunter clicked "save" as the drone hovered towards his location, docking to its station. He turned the machine off and waited. The forest burned slowly, the ash and smoke creating a cloud overhead. Tree roots snapped under the clumsy boots of the guerrilla soldier, the goon's heavy breathing a dead giveaway as to his identity.

_Amateur._

The mercenary huffed, out of breath, searching wildly and wiping at the dark hair that matted to his scar ravaged face. This one had engaged in battle only to be taken out by the target of the exercise. The leader of the rag tag army stood out in the open, checking a wristwatch in impatience.

The Hunter avoided the twigs and plants that would signal his approach. Once he was upon this pathetic excuse for a soldier, gloved fingers tapped the control at his wrist. The cloak that blended him into the environment shimmered, revealing his black body armor.

Scarface staggered backwards, surprised and fumbled for a weapon. "Sir! We...we completed our mission."

The Hunter nodded and stepped closer, looming over the hired muscle. "Did you pay your men?"

"Yes... yes, I did." Scarface evened out his harsh breathing and lowered his weapon. "I've sent them on their way."

"And they remain unaware of who hired them for this mission?" he asked from under his mask.

The captain sweated profusely, wiping at his brow. The Hunter smiled; the environmental controls of his suit kept him evenly cool. He measured the rapid heartbeat of the brute in front of him with his sensor readings. This specimen was out of shape and incapable of enduring any type of hostile climate. Weak and useless.

"They are hired thugs and do not question such things." The mercenary braced himself on his knees, blood from his head wound staining his tattered tan uniform. "The Lanteans are quite a resourceful lot."

A true military mind would have bandaged the injury to conceal all trace of one's movements and location. He draped a meaty arm around the winded man's shoulders and brought him closer. "The target was skilled. A very impressive display. He may prove a worthy opponent."

The mercenary's sweat was such a sour, foul odor. Constant bathing and clean clothes should always be a priority. Stealth was the primary key to any hunt.

"The Lanteans are weak. If it were not for their technology they would have been defeated long ago." The man laughed, trying hard not to stare at his black mask.

"Do not underestimate the skills of any enemy."

His guest licked dry lips. "We could have killed him. Took them all out for you. I don't understand this whole game of yours."

The Hunter squeezed the shoulder beneath his fingertips, then petted the head affectionately. "I highly doubt it. The fire was a risky maneuver, one worthy of admiration, and tilted the odds to their favor. And my way is not for you to question. It's a tradition that you couldn't possibly fathom."

The mercenary squirmed. "I lost a lot of men."

"You were unable to control them. You were not to pursue the Lanteans towards the gate."

"They wanted revenge."

"There is no room for such emotion; it is the root of all failure."

The knife blade slipped silently from the glove, passing smoothly through the space left by the removal of his third and fourth fingers for just this purpose. The Hunter sliced the tender throat in one quick motion, the spray splattering the chest plate of his armor. The body twitched a few times, the mercenary's eyes widening in sheer shock before closing permanently. His lifeless body slumped to the ground.

"No trace. No witnesses."

He tapped his head piece. "I have gathered all my needed data and will begin my mission."

"_That is good news."_

He wiped the steel of his blade over his knee. "It will take a few days to get to Atlantis undetected, but the target will be neutralized."

"_You will uphold the honor of the Genii even while our leadership serves to undermine our dignity and refuses us our calls for justice." _

"I will contact you after my mission is complete."

"_The death of Colonel John Sheppard will be a date long remembered by the families of those who seek vengeance." _

He frowned at the emotional displays. He didn't care what the motivations were for this particular assassination. It was just another contract to fulfill, a job to complete as his code dictated. Although, the suspicion that this hunt might prove challenging had him looking forward to testing his skills.

Black leather gloved hands broke down the equipment and hefted the console over his shoulder as he headed towards his aircraft. "I will collect payment upon proof of death."

"_We will pay extra if you deliver his head on a platter_," the radio squawked.

The assassin smiled. "We will see what can be arranged."

* * *

Tbc 


	2. Chapter 2

Debriefings were protocol, no matter how uneventful the mission; the irksome task of rehashing things for the formal report was just another layer of bureaucracy. Ronon was glad that he wasn't formally part of the Atlantis military; too much red tape. Once the team came through the 'gate, the details of what had transpired would wait until a complete medical exam. A quick, _it was a trap and, no, we don't know whose _would suffice until everyone was tended to; another rule after a hostile encounter. Weir wasn't even there to greet them which was odd, although not a major blip on his radar.

Ronon wasn't injured and, while he understood the necessity of post check ups, the tediousness of it could wear on him from time to time. McKay was given a gurney ride to the infirmary, complaining about his foot the entire time. The man's whines died away as a four wheeled escort was faster than two legs. Normally he'd hang back out of the way, but his CO had taken a pretty nasty looking blow to the head. While the colonel remained upright the entire way back, Sheppard wasn't as steady on his feet as he wanted people to believe.

The man hated unwanted attention as much as Ronon did. If you could walk and your wound wasn't bleeding profusely, then it could wait. Like Sheppard, that philosophy applied only to his own well being. He walked casually next to the man until they reached Beckett's corner of the base where they were treated to the end of one of McKay's diatribes as the Doc and a nurse examined him.

"Ow! Will you stop pressing on it and give me some pain medication," Rodney growled, laying on the gurney.

"I have to examine the punctures and if ya would stop wiggling around so much, this would go a lot quicker," Carson explained, prodding the man's foot.

Ronon exchanged a look with Teyla who stood by the physicist trying to offer support. He simply raised an eyebrow at her. He admired Teyla for her loyalty and wealth of patience which he could lack at times.

A petite red-headed nurse came over to Ronon, distracting him from the activity several beds away. He didn't know her name; she was nice, but like most of the staff, was too sweet for his liking. "How are you doing, Mr. Dex? Were you hurt during the mission?"

"I'm fine."

She proceeded to smile at him, her hand reaching for his wrist to check his pulse. He gave her an impudent stare but it failed to earn him the intended effect. The Doc was apparently getting better at training his staff for them to so easily ignore his bad bedside manner. Ronon allowed the examination to go on for another sixty seconds before he sunk low.

"Colonel Sheppard got hit in the head."

He didn't exactly instruct her to go and bother his team mate, so it didn't count as a sell out. With a new target in her sights, the nurse made a beeline for Sheppard. Ronon risked a look and, sure enough, Sheppard glared at him.

_Traitor, _the colonel mouthed.

Ronon shrugged.

"Now, Colonel, don't be so troublesome and remove your vest for me."

Sheppard grinned. "Janice, why are you always making me strip?"

That was her name and, of course the colonel knew it. Ronon didn't roll his eyes; he just crossed his arms and watched Sheppard's shameless flirting that had the woman eating out of his hand. Janice even giggled, reduced to brainless teenage behavior.

"How did this happen, Colonel Sheppard?" Janice palpated a gash with trails of dried blood that had been hidden by his black t-shirt.

"Just a scratch."

"I'll be the judge of that," the nurse admonished, pulling over a tray and preparing a bottle of antiseptic and arranging several bandages. "Now take a seat."

Sheppard had been keeping an eye on Rodney while leaning against the side of a gurney. Both Ronon and the nurse noticed how the colonel's balance wavered when he turned around and hopped up ungracefully.

The coy nurse morphed into professional mode, pulling out a clipboard and beginning a litany of questions. Ronon didn't feel so bad now, sticking the woman on his CO. He grabbed a chair and strategically placed himself between both his team mates as they were fussed over. While his body seemed the picture perfect embodiment of bored and relaxed, his mind was nothing of the sort.

His brain processed the last hour of their encounter. The attack on the team wasn't made by roaming bandits, or hostile natives. They had been expected and deliberately engaged in combat. There had been no demands, no attempt to over run and capture them. If their opponents had decided to rush them, then the battle would have been very bloody.

His attention was drawn to McKay as he was taken to get x-rays made of his foot, Beckett following closely. Teyla was in the middle of her own examination, politely talking to one of the nurses.

The booby trap McKay had walked into was another sign of a formulated and elaborate design. It had taken patience to sabotage the ground with deadly obstacles and the enemy's cunning in forcing them towards that area revealed a more devious plan.

Ronon locked eyes with Sheppard and, once again, the two engaged in similar behavior. While the nurse pestered the colonel with questions as she cleaned and bandaged his wound, he saw through the carefully orchestrated mask. Sheppard was analyzing, replaying the battle in his head in search of answers. When their eyes met, Ronon saw the darker depths within.

Janice left in search of the doc, leaving them alone. Sheppard allowed a tiny slip of his facade, rubbing wearily at his eyes and grimacing as fingers gingerly probed the bruised and swollen part of his forehead.

"You need to learn to duck," Ronon lectured.

"Yeah? Well, I was a little distracted by one of my guys getting involved in an unfair fight."

Ronon considered the answer. "Doesn't change the fact that you didn't dodge fast enough."

Sheppard wrinkled his brow. "Maybe."

"I'll get your back next time," Ronon offered.

"Of that I have no doubt." Sheppard gingerly laid back, closing his eyes.

For a moment, Ronon thought the colonel had drifted off and he considered waking him, knowing a little about concussions. His thoughts were interrupted when Sheppard began talking. Obviously, the man was just trying to get comfortable.

"Dobluis, the head councilman of the Narthions, told us about the strange energy readings on PMX257. He was the only one besides our own people who knew we were going over there to check things out."

"And tell me again why didn't his people investigate?" Ronon inquired.

"They're traders, not explorers. He was trying to be 'helpful'. We've been friendly with them for several months now and I find it odd that they would try to lure us into a trap."

Ronon stood up and walked over to the bed the colonel occupied. "Wouldn't be the first time. Money and promises can buy anything."

"Why?" Sheppard rubbed at the new dressing around his arm. "What was the mission objective?"

"To test our fitness in the field of battle, observe our weapons, typical intel reconnaissance." Ronon spoke out loud things he knew about first hand.

"We may be looking at a new set of players in the game. Rumors of our survival after the siege of Atlantis have spread to groups and planets who have gate travel. Maybe they want what everyone does."

"What's that?"

"New technology, weapons, any means to gain more power. Just what we need... another set of bad guys." Sheppard's voice trailed off as he cradled his head into his hand.

"Want me to get the doc?"

The colonel grimaced when he shook his head. "No, just a few aspirin and I'll be good as new."

Ronon didn't believe it for a second, but was saved from any further comment when he heard the bickering voices of Beckett and Rodney.

Rodney sat upright on the gurney while jabbering away, a poor nurse doing his best to steer the bed back. "I seriously think you should have a specialist check for nerve damage. I had two gigantic spikes driven into my foot, Carson. One may I add, that went all the way through."

"Aye, I know that, Rodney, though I'll remind _you _that _one_ of us has a degree in medicine and the other doesn't."

"It's not a real degree," the physicist retorted.

"There is tendon, muscle, and ligament damage. The puncture wounds were thankfully small and were meant to hurt more than to injure," the Doc placated.

"A sharp pointy object drilled a chasm through my foot. I have to be on my feet all day working on vital experiments. I can't be sidelined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life just because one of your tests didn't detect a severed nerve bundle or worse, an infection that might mutate and spread to the rest of my toes."

"If you lost all your toes then you wouldn't have to go off world," Ronon pointed out.

Beckett whirled around at him. "Don't you start!" Then the physician held out his hand to stop another barrage from his patient. "You have a fracture of the second metacarpal where the wood punctured through and the second injury did not penetrate past the bone."

"But what about---"

"Your x-rays and scans are clean; nothing to worry about except muscle and soft tissue." Beckett patted the agitated man's knee. "We're going to get you comfortable and wrap and bind it."

"Comfortable means narcotics, right? Nice, large dosages of narcotics?" Rodney asked, hopeful.

"Yes, Rodney." Beckett signed off on a chart. "Now let me tend to the others while you are taken care of."

Sighing, the doctor headed towards Teyla and the nurse who had been chatting up a storm. "Teyla, love, how are things?"

"I am well, Carson. I've just been discussing..." She paused and smiled. "Some matters with Carol here."

The other nurse blushed and busied herself by pulling the privacy curtain around Rodney's bed to begin the task of sterilizing and bandaging his injury.

"This has nothing to do with that new staff sergeant that arrived with the new guys from the Daedalus last week does it?" Sheppard's voice drifted over.

Teyla arched an eyebrow. "I know it has nothing to do with that new female pilot you've been… what's the term? _Drooling_ over with Major Lorne."

Ronon smirked, knowing she had the colonel there. "That new girl _is_ pretty hot."

"All right already," Beckett huffed, standing next to the Satedan. "I feel like I'm in a room full of wee school kids."

Beckett grabbed Janice's notes, flipping through them. "Blank. Figures."

"Nothing wrong," Ronon replied gruffly.

"Aye, and this was your first off world mission since I released you to active duty after your one-man war with those Wraith."

"It's my third mission and I've been plenty active the past couple of weeks." Ronon didn't need to be reminded about his brief recapture by the one who had tormented his life as a runner. He would never forget what it was like to be someone's prey, even while he honed every skill as a predator.

Beckett had to know the drill by now and, although he appreciated the concern, one hug in the back of a jumper after going twelve rounds with his nemesis did not award the man any more coddling points.

The physician looked to the colonel for confirmation but when his CO failed to speak up, Beckett turned his sights on Sheppard.

"All righty, Colonel, Janice took care of your abrasion and everything looks good," he said, examining the bandage. "What bit a piece out of ya?"

"Bullet grazed me."

Carson pulled out a penlight. "We need to get you some Kevlar for your poor arms." He shined the beam into each pupil. "Follow my finger." Sheppard went through the motions without sighing which had to be a record.

Ronon tried not to squirm; he felt on edge, always did after a fight. It was time to work off all the excess energy and escape before Weir could corner him into participating in another briefing. Running, sparring, even target practice would release the build up of endorphins and allow his mind to focus. A deep desire burned and his blood pumped faster, awaiting an adrenaline outlet. He wouldn't fidget though, not even tap his foot. He waited. He hated it, loathed every second, but he sat, appearing relaxed in the hard plastic chair and he'd remain that way until the rest of his friends were cleared.

Beckett tutted after his evaluation. "You have a mild concussion."

"I'll be sure to re-stock my ice cube tray," the colonel replied, his tone drier than normal.

"For starters. You know every time you suffer a head injury the longer it takes for you to heal, lad. I want you to take it easy for the next few days and I'm restricting you to light duty."

Sheppard raised his hand in a placating manner. "I know the drill."

"That's the problem," Beckett said, exasperated. "I can give you some Tylenol. Expect some dizziness and light headedness, but if it gets worse, let me know."

Teyla wandered over, sensing the wrap up of things. She stood next to the colonel's bed, then turned to Beckett. "Are we free to go? I am sure that we have much to discuss about this mission."

"You are, my dear." The doctor eyed the patient in bed. "You'll be free to leave with them."

"What about Rodney?" Sheppard asked with no hint of getting up.

"He'll be fine. Like I told him. He just needs to stay off his foot for a few days with some crutches. I'm taking him off active duty and sending him on his way with some pain medication and antibiotics."

The colonel's features seemed to relax, but his gaze drifted elsewhere thinking. One barrier came down, another went up. Sheppard's modus operandi was a fascinating thing to observe. It took time to decipher all the layers if you could get close enough to sift through them all. One of the worst mistakes an enemy could ever make was to underestimate their opponent. Colonel Sheppard exploited that weakness time and time again, and a few times the man overcame impossible odds with sheer balls and luck.

Everyone was in one piece and that was Ronon's cue to go. The mystery from today's battle would click in place after he shed all post mission restlessness. He had just begun to get out of his chair when Dr. Weir and Colonel Caldwell entered.

Sheppard sat up instantly, swinging his legs over the gurney.

"At ease, Colonel," Caldwell instructed.

Ronon's opinion of Caldwell had always been that he was a sufficient soldier and a competent leader. He knew the colonel was responsible for getting the team out of many jams. Caldwell was a commanding figure, even if he failed to evoke the same loyalty that Sheppard did with those under his command. Ronon was curious about this visit observing that Weir was slightly more on edge than usual. Maybe there was something more to her absence during their return from the mission than he'd considered.

Teyla had moved closer, forming a circle with the visitors. Sheppard was instantly alert, all signs of weariness pushed to the side. "What is it?"

Weir's posture was rigid in an effort to calm obvious signs of antsiness. Ronon rubbed his palm on the handle of his weapon as the leader of the expedition spoke in that diplomatic tone she used when concealing her emotions. "I'm sorry I was unavailable when you all arrived. I was in the middle of a meeting. I spoke with Major Lorne who briefed me with what little information you gave him."

"We were ambushed, but escaped with minor injuries," Teyla advised.

Sheppard's gaze went back and forth between Caldwell and Weir, the anxiousness of their unusual appearance affecting him. The colonel tested his legs and stood to full attention before he approached his superiors.

Ronon got up, standing to his full height, and purposefully strode the few feet to be at his CO's side. Caldwell straightened a fraction, a reaction barely noticeable to anyone else. If the other colonel's presence created subtle uneasy reactions in Sheppard, it was only right that he return the favor.

"We received a transmission from Ladon Radim earlier today," Caldwell informed them.

Weir shot him a look, obviously wanting to be the one to share the news.

Sheppard glanced from Weir to the older colonel. "And what was in the message?"

Weir glared at Caldwell, letting the man know she would take it from here. The colonel hid his perturbed feelings, but his eyes gave him away.

"Ladon would like to meet with us about beginning talks for a negotiation," she explained.

"What type of negotiation?" Sheppard asked irritably, closing the distance with the others.

Weir's voice exuded calm and a tone that dictated no more interruptions. "We're not sure. It was short and to the point. Ladon wishes to begin talks to form a neutrality agreement of some sort in hopes of a treaty later on."

"That's it?" Ronon asked.

"There were no more details except that the Genii would be contacting Atlantis in a couple of days with a possible date and location to begin talks," Weir explained, eying each of her team members.

"I don't buy it. The timing of this so called invitation is suspicious and considering what we just encountered, I'd wager is not a coincidence," Sheppard expressed bitterly.

"You care to elaborate on what took place during the mission?" Caldwell pressed.

It looked like Ronon wasn't going to be able to escape a lengthy explanation. The thrum of his nervous system increased. It just meant that some unsuspecting Marines would be on the receiving end of one of his de-stressing sessions as soon as he could break free.

-------------------------

Entering the planet's atmosphere was relatively easy considering most of the defense systems deployed were designed to seek out larger crafts. He piloted his ship low, over the ocean as a precaution and pinpointed the abandoned sections of the city. Atlantis may once have been the mighty home of the Ancients, but most of it was still not powered and it made it easy for him to slip in at one of the easternmost points.

The Hunter used a lightweight polymer rope to scale a large wall and hoisted himself onto a landing. Knowing the city was capable of underwater submersion made locating an entrance difficult. He scoured platforms and tested weak parts of structural areas until he found what he needed, several levels up, with a damaged docking bay. Gaining access was simple and once he was securely inside he used the thermal readings from inside his mask to navigate the darkened hallways.

He'd been lucky. The technology that powered his jamming array had been stolen several years ago from space pirates that a weapons dealer had employed him to track down and dissolve as a lesson to any other bandits. This particular group of thugs had attacked and raided a vessel that's haul was meant to arm one side of a civil war. When the shipment of guns wound up late, it tipped the scale of a major battle and ruined the chance for the dealer to keep supplying both sides.

The bandits had proved elusive; their ship had never appeared on radar or left an energy signature to track. After having leaked false information that a merchant vessel with a cargo full of valuable spices would be traveling in a risky sector, he had lain in wait, and slaughtered the group who boarded his ship in the ruse. The Hunter had torched the pirates' spacecraft and delivered the severed hands of the captain to his employer who nailed them as a warning to a wall of the tavern the crew and other gangs frequented.

A bonus from the mission had been discovering the key to so many successful raids. The bandits had a brilliant engineer among them who had created and installed a stealth device that rivaled that used in his sleek body's exoskeleton. The jamming array impeded long and short range sensors, allowing him to approach vessels undetected.

Now that he had effectively memorized the dozens of corridors, rooms and labs of the section he occupied, the Hunter inserted a data chip into a palm-sized computer and calculated his current location; he was many clicks from the populated part of the city. The depths of the uninhabited region would provide enough of an obstacle for his escape after the job was completed. It made tracking down his target a longer operation, but he knew this mission would require a few days. The provisions he carried with him would be adequate for an even longer amount of time.

The hallways were silent, the low humming of the city a dull background. The Hunter unpacked his weapons, inspecting both pulse guns. Each blaster had served him well for many years and he polished every smooth inch with a cloth. They would be used as a last resort; a kill from a distance was the work of an amateur.

He unsheathed a, six inch long blade, its steel folded over one thousand times by the hands of the finest craftsman. The edge could cut through bone in a single strike. He balanced the knife perfectly with a gloved finger in admiration. Despite the beauty of such a fine instrument, it was not his favorite ally. His best friend was the hidden dagger designed to slide out perfectly from where he'd cut away his own fingers to accommodate it.

A single swish and it was over. That was true stealth; a revered tribute to their code.

The Hunter fingered a roll of fine black cord in one of his pockets and remembered the sounds of his Master as it compressed both larynx and trachea. In their Order it was expected to take out your mentor at the time he ceased to be useful. When his faithful master succumbed to unconsciousness he honored the man, tying one complicated knot after another, tightening the cord that ensured completion of the act.

The Hunter closed his eyes, immersing himself in this new environment. Despite the number of flawless kills, he longed for a difficult opponent; to match wits with a formidable enemy tested ability, reaffirmed that his purpose held merit. The day he could not take out a target was the day he himself would be deemed useless and unfit to fulfill his obligation.

Without purpose there was no need to live and expend resources. His kind served the art of their code, their creed. Victory was a fulfillment of a job condition. No matter the outcome, what it took to complete the mission was all that counted. There was never any room for emotion, because it was simply his personal duty.

Tomorrow was another sunrise. It could be a good day to die. Failure was never an option.


	3. Chapter 3

"Have you slept at all?"

Sheppard had just taken three steps into the conference room when Elizabeth's question made him pause. He glanced at his reflection in one of the large windows. His hair was a little more unruly than even his normal rakish appearance. It seemed that the water he'd splashed on his face that morning had done little for his haggard appearance... or had it been the night before?

He grabbed the back of a swivel chair and placed both hands on it. "I was busy rearranging schedules for the off world teams and postponed a few going out."

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow; he hadn't answered her question. "You suspect trouble."

"Damn straight. The last time we had any dealings with the Genii we got caught up in their little coup, they attempted to steal our jumpers, and murder a bunch of my team members. And let's not forget the nuke they detonated."

His expedition leader appraised him for a moment, even as the others began arriving in the gate room to begin their meeting. "What else have you been doing instead of resting?"

"Went over an inspection of the jumpers with Zelenka to make sure they were all flight ready and increased the security details."

He didn't mention the feelings of déjà vu, the crawling sensations he'd felt on his skin, and the unrelenting spikes of tension he had every time he turned around. He'd passed the wired stage hours ago, but he knew if he stopped moving, his body would crash on him.

"All good precautions, but let's discuss any drastic changes before you instigate them, alright?"

She was letting him off easy. He flashed her a smile in acknowledgment, even if the grin wasn't up to his usual standards and lacked his customary charm. Beckett had apparently missed the ice pick that was currently digging a hole into his temple. It was the only reason that he had turned down a third cup of coffee; he didn't want the extra caffeine to make things worse.

_Or more jitters, John._

"Lorne should be getting back from PMX257 later today. I doubt he'll find anything; in fact, I'll bet our _friends _are long gone and the fire we created burned away any trace of 'em."

"I'm still waiting to hear back from the Narthions. As of early this morning, they could not locate Councilman Dobluis about my request to speak to him." Elizabeth paused. "I'm not sure what I'll say to him."

Sheppard pursed his lips. "Something along the lines of, _did you happen to sell out our team's plans to investigate your strange energy readings and, by the way, are you still interested in trading for that new ore?"_

Elizabeth laughed. "I'm glad you let Teyla do most of the negotiations, but the direct approach may prove the most useful with our councilman."

Sheppard waited for the arrival of the others for the meeting. Ronon, Teyla, and Colonel Caldwell all took seats around the table. Everyone had gotten settled in and was ready to begin discussions, when all attention was drawn towards the stairs. Rodney was making a ruckus as he tried to unsuccessfully scale them on his crutches, wobbling in a painstaking effort to reach the final platform.

Teyla held the door open as he huffed over, out of breath and his face red from exertion. "Gee, thanks," he complained, limping in.

From his seated position Ronon used his foot to shove a chair closer. Rodney glowered at him, hopping around until he sank into it wearily. "Don't get up or anything," he said grumbling about the need for an elevator under his breath

"Ronon might give you a piggyback ride down... if you asked nicely," Sheppard barbed.

"Oh, har har," Rodney retorted trying to get comfortable.

"What's a piggyback ride?" the Satedan inquired.

"Um... Never mind." Sheppard turned his attention to his friend. "What are you doing here, McKay? I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy on cloud morphine."

Rodney pulled out his data pad and fiddled with the stylus. "Who thought it would be a good idea to hold a meeting about the Genii without the smartest mind here, huh?" He looked around. "And I'll have you know, I'm holding off on my next dosage until after the meeting. Shall we get started? I want to be blissfully unaware when my foot begins throbbing in beat to one of those death metal bands the new Czech likes to listen to."

"You all heard the transmission we received from Ladon Radim yesterday. We confirmed the authenticity of the message and expect a new one in just a couple of days." Elizabeth began glancing at each of the assembled team. "The content was simple. Ladon wishes to begin the process for talks. I imagine he decided not to go into detail after considering our history with his people."

"You think?" Rodney interrupted.

Sheppard shot the man an irritated look. "He's right. The Genii have proved time and time again that they are not to be trusted. They reach out to shake with one hand as they stab us in the back with the other."

"Can we afford to ignore this opportunity? Ladon represents the new leadership of one of the few advanced races with any plans to fight the Wraith," Elizabeth countered.

Caldwell spoke for the first time, drawing everyone's attention. "It's my understanding that Ladon Radim almost killed Colonel Sheppard and his team in a nuclear blast. This after performing experiments with the ATA gene therapy of the very men he helped kidnap. Am I correct?"

Elizabeth's tone held a bitter edge. "Let's not forget that he did save Colonel Sheppard and the others."

Rodney's words were less than diplomatic. "Only after Carson treated the lepers they left to die and helped his sister."

Sheppard knew she was probably feeling outnumbered, but there was too much bad blood still felt by the occupants of the room.

"Perhaps Dr. Weir hopes that Ladon wants to build upon the end result of our last encounter," Teyla said, trying to add a more neutral tone.

Ronon's low gravelly voice retorted Teyla's point. "They can't be trusted."

Elizabeth didn't back down at the Satedan's simple assessment. "Well, I don't think we have much of a choice. Do we?"

Sheppard knew what Elizabeth meant and, despite the ice pick's attempt to carve out a trench through his skull, he tried to find a compromise. "She's right." All heads turned towards him. "We won't know unless we accept the invitation."

Caldwell's eyes were on him, considering his words. Sheppard bet the man hadn't intended to second guess him all the time, it was just his nature. The chair squeaked as Sheppard leaned back. "We do it on our terms. On a neutral site of our choosing and only if we like what we hear."

He waited for the arguing, for all the reasons why this was a bad idea. In fact, he agreed with every skeptical expression: Ronon's distrust, Teyla's apprehension, Rodney's anxious anger and Caldwell's reluctant agreement. He didn't need to see Elizabeth's softening features to know she was relieved.

"Think you're really that good at chess, Colonel?" Rodney's acidic voice interrupted his thoughts.

Sheppard rested his elbows on the table. "You should know, McKay."

He just hoped that the Genii would be as uncertain of their skills when it came time to make their move.

* * *

Rodney's arms, shoulders, and even his sides ached from struggling with his crutches. With all the _advancements_ of medicine, it still took plaster to cast up an arm or leg. In his case, all he could do was stay off his foot. Couldn't modern voodoo invent anything better than aluminum poles to hop around on all day?

He must have voiced another complaint out loud, because his companion growled at him. Ronon did that a lot to communicate. Occasionally he was treated to a monosyllabic snarl.

Everyone had the wrong impression that he was on morphine. That drug was reserved for "serious wounds," Carson had explained, handing him a bottle of tiny yellow tablets that were definitely NOT the good stuff.

"Will you hurry up, McKay? They're serving my favorite for lunch," Ronon barked in annoyance from where he waited, several feet ahead.

"You actually like meatloaf? It's the lowest tier of all the meats." He puffed trying to catch up.

"It tastes good and if I'm too late to get two helpings, I'm blaming you."

"You're not allowed seconds."

Ronon kept walking and that only infuriated him. "Wait, how do you get extras?"

"I'm bigger," the Satedan replied, his long strides creating a larger gap between them.

Rodney increased his pace in earnest. "It's that Mandy chick isn't it?" When the man didn't reply he grew testier. "I knew it. She has the hots for you and that's not fair. The rest of us don't get any more. In fact, they run out sometimes when I get there."

Ronon chuckled. "She likes Sheppard, too."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "That's not surprising," he muttered and almost fell down. "Damn it! I hate these things."

He almost ran into a wall, but realized it was only his companion. "Why'd you stop like that?"

The look in Ronon's eyes was steely, his face a stone slate. When he spoke, all trace of their earlier banter was gone. "Do you really need those things?"

Rodney felt his face flush. "Of course I do."

"If you really do, it might be a good idea that you learn to use them right."

Sputtering was a hard thing to control, but Rodney managed a few choice words. "I'm doing the best I can. They're barbaric!"

"Any day now we might encounter a threat. Could be Genii. Could be the people who attacked us yesterday. We need everyone to be able to defend this city."

Rodney crutched towards the much larger man, exhibiting a rare display of fearlessness. "Excuse me? Just in case you have a short term memory problem, I've saved Atlantis more times than I can count and that's with the most important part of me. My brain."

Ronon loomed over him. "You can fix things. But you need to know how to defend yourself. How to be ready for anything."

"I do all the time. How many extra training classes have I gone through with Sheppard or you for that matter?"

The Satedan crossed his arms. "Those crutches don't have to stop you."

Rodney looked down at the devices. "What? I mean, how?"

"If you really want to learn how to adapt and how to think fast, meet me later tonight at the gym and I'll show you."

Ronon turned to head towards the mess hall and didn't look back. Rodney hurried, using both metal poles in a more fluid motion to try to keep up.

_Fine. Conan doesn't think I'll show up? I'll show him. _

* * *

Despite all the pessimism of earlier, they both arrived in time to get decent helpings of meatloaf, some Athosian vegetables, bread and what had Rodney beaming. Apple cobbler. He had noticed the tasty dessert on a couple tables and had even made one of the cafeteria workers go search for more when they'd insisted it was gone.

His stomach rumbled as his nose caught the aroma that wafted through the air and he slid his tray over to pick up some silverware. He was about to head towards a table, but realized that he couldn't carry his tray and crutch there at the same time. Several people passed him while he contemplated his dilemma. He spotted Ronon, shoveling food into his mouth without a glance up, eating next to Sheppard who sat stiffly, eyes scanning every table.

Rodney squinted to see if there was anything he should have noticed, but after glancing around, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He knew his lunch was getting cold and both his 'pals' were only a few feet away and not coming over to help. Sheppard was too engrossed in casing out the place so rather than wait for him to notice, he cleared his throat loudly to get the man's attention.

Sheppard finally snapped out of his trance and walked over. "Need a hand?"

"Since mine are busy, yes." The colonel took his food and he regretted being cranky when he observed his friend's sickly pallor. "Jeesh, taken a look in the mirror lately?"

Sheppard ignored him and carried his lunch over to the table that Ronon occupied. Rodney maneuvered over, pulled out his chair and began to eat. He cut up the layers of meat and gravy while one eye studied the colonel.

Sheppard sat in the corner, arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes flicking from one side of the room to the other. Rodney wasn't able to keep his curiosity at bay and searched the faces of the crowd around them while he chewed. The colonel aimlessly shoved his food around with his fork. Rodney doubted the man was aware that he was turning his lunch into a pile of mush.

"You know, food is typically meant to be eaten," Rodney snarked.

The utensil made slow moving circles, while green eyes darted around in little patterns across the mess hall.

"Atlantis to Sheppard."

The colonel looked up distracted. "What?"

Rodney shook his head. "Just checking to see if anyone's home."

Sheppard dropped his fork with a clatter and slumped in his seat. "Sorry, guess I'm on edge."

"Perhaps sleeping might help," Rodney pointed out. "And eating for one thing."

Ronon poked at the untouched tray. "You plan on finishing that?"

"Hello, the colonel hasn't even started." Rodney used his fork to slap away Ronon's knife. Ronon parried, causing both utensils to scrape together. Ronon spun the utensil and pinned Rodney's fingers to the table with the dull blade, smiling devilishly before slipping it back to cut away at his meal.

Sheppard continued his impression of a space cadet, his gaze drifting around. It was getting on Rodney's nerves. "What the heck are you looking at?"

The colonel's shoulders were tense, every muscle coiled and ready to spring. "Nothing."

"You're a lousy liar," Rodney said between mouthfuls of a carrot and pea type substance.

Sheppard shoved his lunch aside, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the table. "Have you guys noticed anything... off?"

Ronon was instantly at attention, eyes roaming the mess hall. "Like what?"

"I dunno," Sheppard sighed. "I've got this feeling..."

"You know paranoia often accompanies exhaustion. Let's not forget the whack to your head," Rodney declared. "Why don't you try putting food in your stomach? It might settle your nerves."

Sheppard swallowed, looking slightly green. "That's _your _remedy for everything."

"Nauseous?" Rodney asked.

"Just tense."

"Riiiight," Rodney sighed.

Silence settled on the group, now that the good colonel had to ruin everything with talk of spooky intuition and gut feelings. Rodney rubbed his hands together in glee, breathing deeply the cinnamon sprinkled concoction. Fresh fruit and spices were still a rare commodity. This was the only time he didn't mind seeing Caldwell around. The colonel was like Santa Claus with loads of goodies on his warp drive powered sleigh.

Sheppard looked at his tray quizzically. "We had cobbler today?"

Ronon smirked. "You _are_ out of it."

"Yes, we did, Colonel. In fact, I had to makes threats to secure the last piece. Hmmmmmm," he taunted, knowing apple cobbler was one Sheppard's favorite desserts.

He saw the shadow cross his tray, sensed a certain fly boy invade the airspace above his prized possession. "Stop it."

"What?" Sheppard replied innocently.

Rodney's fork hovered over the succulent crust, thin slices of warm apple daring him to dig in. "You are not going to guilt me into sharing."

"Think that's real brown sugar?"

Rodney's mouth watered. "It's flattering that you're going through the effort of adding that tiny whine to your voice, but it's mine."

He heard the sigh. _No, don't look up_, a little voice told him. Too late, he fell for it.

"Colonel, just a few minutes ago your stomach wasn't up for any food," he accused.

"He didn't say that," Ronon was quick to point out.

Rodney pointed his fork at the Satedan. "It's not fair to gang up on me. You know as well as I do that he's concussed and will probably throw it back up anyway."

"It might help my appetite."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Rodney growled, separating the luscious dessert in halves. "Fine, take some."

Sheppard didn't have to be asked twice and eagerly dumped a portion onto his plate. Rodney crossed his arms. "You owe me the next strawberry cake."

"I don't like strawberry," Sheppard mumbled, scooping up the apple confection. "Mmmm, if we had vanilla ice cream this would be heaven."

Rodney held his tongue and settled for devouring what was left, flaking crumbs all over the table. In between the tartness and sugary bliss of melting flavors, he stopped mid-chew. A shiver ran up his spine and the tiny hairs on his arms sprang to life. Ronon tensed suddenly with eyes scanning like a hawk and Rodney knew he wasn't alone in experiencing the peculiar sensation. But, as quickly as the feeling had hit him, it disappeared.

Sheppard was content with stuffing his face and Rodney wasn't about to ruin the mood by commenting on the eerie ambiance. He shook his head, half convinced he'd only been sucked up in Sheppard's paranoia. But before he could say anything, Ronon grabbed his tray abruptly and left without a word.

* * *

"There was no trace of the people who ambushed you, sir."

Sheppard had anticipated the answer but still wasn't thrilled with Lorne's news. "Any sign of a camp? Weapon casings?"

Lorne's face fell, obviously annoyed with coming up empty handed. "The ground was still smoldering when we got there. If anything had been left, the blaze destroyed it."

Sheppard's eyes drifted down to the clipboard in his hand, then over to a container of grenades. 1242-AX was neatly stenciled on the top and it took a moment to locate the corresponding row on the supply chart. His pen hovered over the paper and he had to double check again when he lost his place.

He cleared his throat, gathering his thoughts. "That brings us back to the Narthions and our missing councilman."

"I could take a team out to drop by and pay them a visit."

"No, I want to keep everyone in one place while dealing with this Genii situation," he replied, studying his inventory sheet again.

His headache had grown in magnitude over the past few hours. A guy with a jackhammer drilled a hole behind his left eye, keeping the ice pick from earlier company.

"Staff Sergeant Riggs runs a tight ship, sir," Lorne commented.

Sheppard smiled. It was good that the young major was concerned with how he viewed the men. "This has nothing to do with the sergeant's abilities. I don't do these things often enough."

It was a blatant lie, but it gave him something to do. He nodded towards the door and the tension in Lorne's shoulders relaxed at the inspection cut short.

"If you don't mind me saying so, sir, but I thought one of the perks of command was delegation."

Sheppard chuckled as they exited the armory. "Do you know how long I sit behind a desk, overseeing labor distribution, mission reports, supply issues, and disciplinary matters?" Sheppard inquired.

Lorne cracked a grin. "Not as long as you should?"

The major's eyes hastily stared at the floor when Sheppard glared at him. "Funny."

Lorne stopped in the middle of the empty corridor, his face somber. "I don't trust the Genii and not just from what happened last time. They're power hungry in a leaderless galaxy under constant threat. When there's a power vacuum, someone's bound to step up to the plate and try to gain control."

Sheppard's eyes fell at the words that echoed his own nagging distrust of the militaristic people. He nodded. "Thanks for your candid comments."

The major straightened and he waved his hand at him. "At ease. You know I'm always open to your opinion."

"Thank you, sir. It's nice I can share it."

Sheppard managed to refrain from laughing out loud at that one. Being allowed to express your feelings about protocols or orders was not encouraged in their line of work. The brass might not approve of his command style, but then again, he didn't consider Atlantis your regular post.

"Do you know when you're cleared for active duty?"

Sheppard barely heard Lorne's question because his insides had tightened into knots, his belly somersaulting. His eyes roamed the empty halls suspiciously while his subordinate stared at him worriedly.

"Anything wrong, sir?"

"No, Major. I think it's been a very long day." Sheppard didn't sound convincing even to his own ears.

"I'll see you during the next briefing."

He really hated being grounded like this but nodded as Lorne went towards his quarters. He rubbed at the tension in his neck, the need to go on a run tempting despite how drained he felt. By the time he'd reached his room, he was glad that he hadn't tried to go for that jog. His doors slid open as he thought the lights to dim and dragged his tired body through, plucking out his com piece and tossing it on his desk.

The idea of a shower held a sense of salvation. He undid the strap to his holster, pulled out his Beretta and placed it on the night stand. He stretched his arms until the joints popped and he considered just stripping and going right to bed.

No, the hot steam and water were too alluring He grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and began pulling it from his BDUs.

"If only a beer would appear when I thought about," he said out loud. He paused, waiting to see if there'd be a magical response.

"Damn. Worth a try."

It was the tingle that alerted him, his good old _spidey_ sense. He felt every muscle tense and his head whipped around at an odd shimming a few feet away.

His eyes grew large as a dark figure appeared out of thin air in his room. His fingers brushed the holster at his hip and he cursed silently when he felt the empty leather. He didn't have time to voice how much the situation sucked before the faceless enemy launched at him.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

The mysterious foe struck without a word. Sheppard dodged a blade aimed at his throat, narrowly missing a slice that would have given him a crimson necktie. The knife arched downwards towards his subclavian and he quickly sidestepped the motion. When the steel went for across his waistline, he sucked in his stomach and jumped backwards. The attacker was nimble; every swipe of the knife only missed him by inches.

Carving him up didn't work so the assailant switched tactics and tried to stab him instead. He pivoted away from the thrust towards his heart and weaved the jabs that followed. All the lessons with Ronon were paying off. He never took his focus away from the steel, staying aware of every motion. When the attacker lunged again, he swerved and pulled out his Gerber knife.

Sheppard reverted to a standard defensive stance, one foot in front of the other and his arms up in a loose fashion, ready to react to anything. His opponent looked like he'd walked off a Star Wars film. He wore a black suit that was more of a flexible exoskeleton, armored plates covering his chest and limbs. The outfit included a set of long gloves, a helmet equipped with some type of visor and a pair of typical bad guy boots.

"You trying out for the next Predator vs. Alien movie?"

His foe went on the offensive in silence. The knife sliced towards his neck, but he blocked and parried it with his own. The Predator recoiled when Sheppard lashed back, coming up with empty air. The two traded jabs and lunges, neither soldier making a mark on the other. Deep down inside, Sheppard knew he wouldn't last long in this type of knife fight.

The assailant moved with grace, his armor flexing seamlessly. Sheppard was backed into corner; forced further out of reach of his gun and unable to get to the door. The bad guy not only had a couple of inches on him, but also easily outweighed him in muscle mass. He wasn't The Hulk by any means, but he could give Ronon a run for his money.

Sheppard breathed hard and searched for a way past this enemy. "How about I just call you Ugly? That's what Arnold did in the film and lived to save the day."

He hated the inability to read a man's eyes. When Ugly feinted towards his knee Sheppard let his guard down to block and exposed himself. Boiling heat ripped a path from the top of his elbow across his forearm, blood welling up from the wound. The cut went bone deep and set all of his nerves on fire. Despite the white-hot pain, he managed to veer away and avoid a violent swipe to his carotid.

Sheppard knew he had to stay on the attack and went for the belly area not covered by thicker armor. Ugly averted the stabbing motion and slammed the knife handle into his shoulder. The jarring vibration caused his Gerber to drop to the ground with a clank. Ignoring the throbbing in his arm and shoulder, Sheppard dove to the ground. He grabbed the bad guy's ankle with both boots and swung them hard to the left, sending his attacker to the floor.

The heavier weight of the suit caused Ugly to crash hard. Sheppard scrambled to his feet, even while his foe recovered from his tumble. He spotted his floor lamp out of the corner of his eye and grabbed the metal pole, ignoring the numbing sensation in his right hand.

Blood coated his arm in an alarming rate and flexing his muscles caused him agony. He struck the upper body of his stalking foe and caused Ugly to stumble. Like a baseball player Sheppard swung again, striking with all his adrenaline infused strength. He held onto the pole like an overgrown bat and tried to pummel the science fiction reject into submission.

"Stay down you son of a bitch!" he growled.

His right arm felt dead; the loss of sensation hadn't caught up to his flight or fight response. Sheppard barely noticed the constant stream of warm redness drip to the floor as he wielded the lamp pole like a sledge hammer onto his enemy's head. The helmet protected the bad guy and sent ricocheting shock waves through both of Sheppard's arms. He grunted in pain as the makeshift weapon fell from his weakened hold.

Sheppard dove towards the end table, his near useless right hand still grasping the Berretta. He felt two hands dig into his shoulders and he was thrown like a rag doll across the room and into the wall. Stunned and feeling dizzy, he barely had time to register a flurry of motion. With his left arm he blocked the six inch blade that sought his chest, the tip of the stained steel a fraction from digging into his flesh.

His head throbbed and the combination of blood loss and his earlier concussion had the room spinning dizzyingly. All he had was instinct to fall back on. He stuck the gun's muzzle under the arm that held off the knife and jabbed the weapon under the masked assailant's chin.

With Ugly still trying to plunge the knife into him, Sheppard squeezed the trigger. The report of the weapon at such close range was deafening. He couldn't feel his right fingers; only ingrained muscle memory pulled the trigger a second time.

Ugly cried out, the noise sounding like it was coming through a distortion filter. Grunting in alien gibberish, the attacker clawed at his helmet and the knife clattered to the ground. The path to escape was open and with every ounce of energy he had left, Sheppard raced towards the door. Ugly lashed out with an arm and struck him in the back of the head.

The karate chop left him with stars blurring his vision, but Sheppard managed to swipe his headset from the table before he collapsed. He crawled on his hands and knees, completely disoriented, trying to seek the fallen com piece, or his gun lost in the fall. The room filled with the sound of his enemy's heavy breathing through the damaged mask and he noticed this was the first time Ugly had made a sound. A hand grabbed his left ankle and tugged hard, dragging him backwards. With all his waning strength, he flipped onto his back, freeing his foot in the struggle.

His opponent moved towards him and he tried kicking the bad guy's knee to knock him to the ground. Ugly anticipated his ploy, catching his foot and twisting his ankle painfully. Sheppard cried out as his attacker grabbed the material around the knee of his BDUs and pulled him forward. His left hand blindly searched the floor, his hope surging briefly as his fingers brushed over his headset, activating it.

"_I need a security team in my quarters!"_

The com piece was jarred loose from his hand and Ugly jerked him closer. Sheppard stared at his unarmed assailant. "I think we can call this a draw. What do you think?"

The guy loomed over him, the damaged helmet still intact, blood dripping from one of many ragged holes. Sheppard's arm throbbed from the deep laceration and he was still stunned from the blow to his head. He opened his mouth to utter another smart remark in a stall for time, but stopped when he heard a swishing noise.

His eyes grew large as another sharp blade appeared from out of nowhere into Ugly's hand. Sheppard's muscles coiled to kick it away, but his assailant drove the knife deeply into his left thigh. The steel made a sickening noise as it tore into flesh, tendon, and muscle. It was shoved in to the hilt, spraying blood over his clothes and sending cast off across the body armor of the figure above him.

His breath was stolen away, a cry dying on his lips as immeasurable pain ripped through his leg and sent lancing daggers throughout the rest of his body. He panted and his vision grayed around the edges. He gasped when the knife was methodically pulled out. More blood spurted out, soaking his BDUs and beginning to pool on the once clean floor.

His chest hitched with rapid heaving gasps and, with a shaky hand, he attempted to cover the gaping hole in a useless effort. He shivered as his life poured out between his fingers, the freakish Predator guy observing him as he lay bleeding to death. He coughed, unable to suck in enough oxygen and his eyes grew heavy. The pain enveloped his entire body as he pressed down on the wound, attempting to dig his thumb into the gaping hole.

The assailant kneeled down next to him, still watching. The blade hovered above his throat and he felt the tip of it burn his skin. The metal flicked and cut the chain that held his dog tags. Ugly wrapped his gloved fingers around one of them and tore it away from his neck.

"You...can't...have...those," Sheppard wheezed.

The black clad figure didn't say a word.

He knew one day he would be killed in a battle, helping his friends, or trying to save the city. Sheppard felt a terrible weight bear down on his chest as he battled for precious air.

This wasn't what he expected at all. It was horrible knowing he was going to die alone, but the thing that made it worse was that he didn't even know why.

* * *

"You're not trying hard enough," Ronon reprimanded. 

Rodney took a clumsy swing at him with his left crutch, Ronon moving easily out of its way. The momentum made the physicist lose his balance, cursing under his breath. "This isn't stick fighting you overgrown--"

Ronon grabbed Rodney's shirt collar and roughly hoisted him up before he did _another _face plant. "That's where you're wrong. It's the same principle."

"Easy there, that's my favorite comfy shirt," Rodney complained, slapping away Ronon's fingers. "For your information, I'm not even supposed to be doing any physical activity."

Ronon's hands clenched by his sides as he resisted the urge to use some of the colorful human epithets he'd learned the past year. Channeling calm was not his forte. "I don't think the enemy will ask for a doctor's note before shooting you dead."

McKay glowered. "While nice to know you're learning a sense of humor, that's still a huge jump on the conclusions scale. What makes you suddenly think we're all in danger?"

Ronon didn't know how to answer that question. It was a blip on his radar, a sense of ill ease he felt at different places around the city. He couldn't describe why all his internal alarms were buzzing. The sensation would sneak up on him but when he tried to track the cause, it vanished. Whatever _it_ was, it posed an immediate danger.

Ronon considered McKay for a second, sighing internally. Teaching by demonstration was a superior tool for educating the slow. He pulled out his blaster and aimed it at Rodney's temple, counting to three in his head as his student gawked at him, sputtering like a fool.

"Boom. You're dead."

"What?" Rodney grumbled. "First off, you just aimed that damn cannon at me and I know there's no safety on that thing. Secondly, what the hell did you expect me to do?"

"Anything," Ronon grunted. "Use your crutch as a weapon, knock it out of my hand. Learn to adapt when outnumbered or facing a superior force."

"The world isn't as simple as you make it, just because your mind works at a more barbaric level than the rest of us."

Ronon's teeth gnashed together. "It's not as complicated either."

Fed up with verbal sparring, he gave up on trying to persuade the other man of the value of his lessons. The sounds of rubber ends clomping over the gym floor followed him as he left. He was certain that McKay was gearing up for another one of his insufferable tirades which only pissed him off more. There was a reason why he was taking his time to teach McKay these things instead of a unit of Marines.

Very few people were worth one on one lessons.

"Hold on a minute you --"

Ronon whirled around, his face inches from McKay's. "If you call me a wookie again, I'll punch you."

"There you go again, acting like some---"

"_I need a security team immediately in my quarters!"_

He didn't wait for the last syllable of Sheppard's cry for help. He took off down the hall like a shot, not looking back to see if Rodney was behind him. A switch flipped inside him; nothing mattered but getting to Sheppard. The length of the corridor stretched forever, even though in reality, he wasn't that far from the colonel's room. He heard the clatter of one crutch, than another, but he was at the door long before Rodney.

He almost collided with the closed entrance. "Sheppard, let me in!"

Nothing.

He jammed his fingers into the crack between the doors and pulled until his arms shook from the strain.

"Sheppard!" he shouted again, sweat beading over his forehead.

He heard Rodney suck in gulps of air and turned to see the man with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath behind him. "Why aren't they open yet?"

Ronon felt his fingers give way as they lost their grip, in his desperate effort to pry the darn things apart. "I don't know," he growled.

"Why would he call for help if he won't let us in?" Rodney questioned as he begun began to pace.

"Maybe he can't," Ronon replied, unsheathing his blaster.

Rodney instantly pulled apart a section in the wall, fingers dancing over circuits. "Maybe... maybe he _won't_ let us in for fear of whatever is going inside. Either way, I'm overriding security."

Both possibilities were unacceptable. The moment Ronon had heard Sheppard's voice on the com, his adrenal glands had released a flood of fire through his veins.

"Got it!" Rodney signaled.

Ronon charged inside, firing a red energy blast at the strange figure while Rodney rushed past him to crouch at Sheppard's prone form.

"Oh, God... Med team to Sheppard's quarters immediately!"

Ronon watched the exoskeleton of the enemy absorb his gun's discharge. Undeterred, he unsheathed an eight-inch blade and slashed the figure's throat. The bad guy parried with a knife of his own, each length of steel clashing together. A black leather elbow slammed into the bridge of Ronon's nose, stunning him. He shook it off and noticed for the first time that fresh blood dripped down the expanse of the enemy's knife. His gut twisted, knowing it was Sheppard's and he growled a primeval snarl, baring his teeth like a wild animal.

The enemy advanced, switching the knife to an opposite hand. Ronon noticed the ploy and shifted his body away from a left-handed swipe. The armor-covered figure was agile on his feet, stepping back to adjust his thrust, but as he rushed forward his black leather boot slipped in the puddle of crimson spreading along the floor. The figure lost his balance, opening the door for an attack. Ronon charged, the sharp end of his knife perforating the lighter armor that covered the ribcage. The tip bore deep enough to cut a moderate wound across the abdomen and up towards his opponent's armpit.

Ronon allowed a grunt of triumph, and had spun around to strike again, when Rodney's words froze him in mid-attack.

"Get over here and help me!"

He turned his attention to McKay's frantic plea, eyes widening in horror at the large blood pool coating the tile. His heart felt like it might explode and his lungs burned with his furious inhalations. The room glowed red, the pounding jackhammer inside his chest filling his eardrums as his body trembled in uncontrolled rage.

"Damn it! Sheppard's bleeding out!" Rodney pressed on the jagged wound in the colonel's leg, blood flowing like a fountain onto the floor.

Ronon hesitated, internal forces grappling over two conflicting sets of instincts. During his struggle the bastard responsible rushed towards the exit. He followed only inches behind, the black blur trying to escape within reach of his fingertips.

"Ronon, let him go!"

It was the imperative tone, the hysterical and helpless appeal. Ronon knew how dire the colonel's wound really was. He let the enemy go—allowing any revenge to slip away.

Any other time in his life, vengeance would have won out. This time Ronon squatted down in a puddle of warm stickiness. Upon seeing the sheer amount of blood loss and Sheppard's waxen face he whipped out his belt.

"Wait. What are you doing?" Rodney stuttered.

Ronon pulled the leather out of its loops and began tying it a few inches above the colonel's thigh. "There's no time to wait for help."

"I thought during Carson's classes he said never to use a tourniquet!" Rodney yelled, still unsuccessfully staunching the leaking sieve with his bare hands.

"He can afford to lose a leg," Ronon growled, then looked up at McKay's stricken face. "He's got less than a couple of minutes to live."

Rodney shut up, noting the expert tone Ronon used. "What do I do?"

"Get some towels."

He heard the man scramble to the bathroom as he adjusted the belt around his CO's leg. Sheppard's shaky hands tried to cover the hole as the rest of his body trembled. The colonel's drawn face was etched in pain and he wheezed weakly.

Ronon gripped the colonel's shoulder, lending him strength. "Hold on, Sheppard."

Rodney returned with an armful of white linen and folded one up and pressed it over the injury, red quickly soaking through. He then dropped to the floor and grabbed Sheppard's leg propping the colonel's thigh over his raised knee to increase the elevation of the injured limb and help slow the blood flow.

Ronon knew this was a mortal injury, could see the same recognition in Sheppard's eyes as they met. The colonel's lips moved to speak and Ronon squeezed his shoulder. "Don't talk."

Before he could offer any more encouragement, the room filled with Major Lorne and a contingent of MPs.

"Fan out and seek the intruder. He was wearing all black body armor and is armed. He headed west." Ronon glared at the Major whose gaze revealed his anger at seeing Sheppard this way.

The major was a professional and he held his emotions back for another time.

"Move out!" Lorne ordered, his Marines obeying, each giving their commanding officer a final glance.

Rodney shifted his knee causing Sheppard to groan in between his pitiful, raspy attempts at breathing. The physicist curled his fingers into Sheppard's lax hand as the colonel's head began to loll to the left.

"Shhhhhh. It's going to be alright. Just hang on."

It had only been two or three minutes since each of them had burst through the doors, but it wouldn't matter much longer. Sheppard was semi-conscious, eyes fluttering closed before snapping open franticly. Ronon looked at McKay, each sharing the worry, battling the helplessness of the situation.

Sheppard tried to speak, his chest hitching, sounds lost in a shuddering rasp.

"Lay still," Ronon ordered, seeking the man's other hand.

Ronon stared at McKay, the two men silently communicating their final thoughts. Ronon felt a surge, a violent collision of determination and anger. If there was one thing he had learned from his team, it was that you never gave in to the odds. Even as the seconds ticked away and Sheppard's lips turned gray as the color left them.

"We need to do something more! We can't wait on the med team to get here." Ronon thrust his hand into the pressure point of the femoral artery bundle, pressing down in the crease of Sheppard's leg.

Rodney was thinking, thousands of calculations running a gamut across his face until his voice burst out with its running thoughts. "We'll beam him out," he said, tapping his headset.

"Colonel Caldwell."

After a beat the headset buzzed. _"McKay, what the hell is going on there?"_

"No time to explain. I need the Daedalus to beam us to the infirmary."

"_Us?"_

Frustrated, Rodney seethed into the com. "Beam me, Ronon and Sheppard to the infirmary before the colonel bleeds to death!"

"_Done."_

Ronon allowed himself to feel the slightest inkling of hope. He had never believed in such a concept, had never allowed his mind to roam to such weak and unreliable thoughts. It was a word he had slowly taken stock in ever since he'd become a part of Sheppard's team.

He and Rodney never let go of Sheppard's hand, willing him to fight.

And as the air glistened with white light Ronon vowed that no matter the outcome, he would ensure that the person responsible for this would pay.


	5. Chapter 5

They were still on the floor when the antiseptic smells of the infirmary reached Rodney's nose. He barely registered the diminishing rays of the transporter before hands grabbed Sheppard's limp form and lifted him onto a gurney. Beckett was already out of breath, undoubtedly from jogging back from the colonel's room. Rodney tried to get up, but his blood covered hand slipped on the tile. Ronon yanked him to his feet by his shirt and they both stood and watched helplessly.

"Damn it!" Carson cursed upon seeing the condition of his patient."Vitals!"

"Pulse's thready at 120, BP's 60 over 40 and dropping!" a nurse hollered, pumping a pressure cuff.

Sheppard's shirt was cut away and a different nurse worked on the BDUs, the fabric ripping as she shredded them with scissors. Rodney was amazed by the speed of Carson's staff, all of them already gloved up, with instrument trays in place and a crash cart nearby. They hooked up Sheppard to several monitors, filling the room with beeping sounds.

The shrieking noise of too many loud alarms made his ears hurt. If the blaring whine of equipment wasn't enough, then the shouting to be heard over it was. People hollered about respiratory rates, low crit, temperature, and there was a terse argument over whether there was time for a central line.

Time was something Sheppard definitely didn't have.

"Careful, don't touch the tourniquet. I'll have ta remove it during surgery," Beckett advised, replacing another soaked bandage.

There was a tube in each of the colonel's arms, one with IV fluids and the other a desperately needed supply of blood. Rodney watched nervously while a nurse squeezed the dark red packet into the colonel's starving veins. Sheppard was at the mercy of medical razzle-dazzle; an oxygen mask to improve his pathetic breathing, tubes to refill every body fluid imaginable, and injections of voodoo potions.

"Carol get a cooling blanket ready," Carson briskly instructed one of his minions,then turned to another. "And Janice, get me four more pints of O Neg and ask Dr. Kim to get ready to anesthetize as soon as we wheel in."

Beckett peeled off his gloves and threw them in a bin, hurrying to scrub in for surgery.

Rodney was hot on his heels. He avoided all the bio-hazards that littered the ground in a frantic hobble. His stomach wouldn't stop bubbling with bile at the sight of bloody articles of clothing and discarded waste. He could only yell at the physician through a window as the irate Scot was busy stripping off layers of skin in an attempt to sterilize quickly.

"What the hell are you talking about? Cooling blankets! Sheppard doesn't have a fever, he's got a gaping hole in his leg!"

"Not now Rodney!" Carson snapped.

Rodney had only seen fire in the physician's eyes once or twice before, but he'd be damned if he would be summarily dismissed. "I'm not one of the pretty nurses that bow at your beck and call."

The harried doctor held out his hands for one of his med team to slip on surgical gloves. "I don't have time for this."

"Do you plan on turning him into a Popsicle? Is that your big plan to stop the geyser in his thigh? Because if not, may I suggest anointing him with oil or any number of other useless ways to fix...to fix--" Rodney waved his hand in the direction of the OR. "What the hell are you going to do?"

Beckett paused long enough for his face to falter and reveal its transparency. "Whatever I bloody can, lad. In fact, I'm gonna put him as close to hypothermia as I dare and slow down all that bleedin' so I can repair it."

Carson disappeared behind the magic curtain and Rodney almost followed, his forehead smooching the glass and his eyes trying to see past the closing doors. Unable to pursue any further, he turned around to see a member of Carson's covenant cleaning up the disaster area left in the wake of their arrival.

She had long strawberry hair pulled back into a bun, rosy cheeks, and blue eyes. The nurse glanced up from sweeping up the debris of the battleground. "Dr. Beckett will do everything thing he can to help the colonel. If you want me to tell you about the procedure, I could explain it to you."

"No, thank you, um..."

"Carol."

"Yeah, right. No offense, but my imagination doesn't need the benefit of a power point presentation. I can fill in every horrid detail myself. More fun that way."

Rodney couldn't tear his gaze from the floor, noticing the heavy droplets that stained the surface. Arterial blood was bright red, unlike the dark cuts from a bad shave or a freak run-in with a sharp edge.

He'd been so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he almost failed to notice Ronon memorizing the same square sections of tile. The runner's body was rigid and both hands were balled into fists.

Rodney had momentarily forgotten that this nightmare wasn't his alone. He wasn't much of a comforter, the whole being emotionally supportive was a skill he lacked. He swallowed, the dizziness of the past few minutes catching up to him. It had been what? Maybe six or seven minutes at the most since they'd broken into Sheppard's quarters.

Rodney shrugged, his face faltering at the cold hard facts and statistics of what Sheppard was up against."He'll be...um...well, you know."

He waited for a stoic reply or some mumbled old saying about great fights and the warriors who fought them. Ronon didn't answer him. In fact, the Satedan wasn't even on the same planet as he was. The hulking runner's nostrils flared and his jaw clenched so tightly that the veins popped along the man's neck.

"Good thinking...um...back there with the triage," Rodney said lamely.

No one was home in Ronon Land. Just heavy breathing, brooding and eyes that bore holes through the walls of the infirmary. Rodney wet his lips, seeking suitable words. He had decided to try offering more pearls of wisdom when his ears filled with a shuddering howl that made every hair on his body stand on end.

Ronon was punching the wall with one hammering thud after another. Rodney flinched, but ran over to try to stop the meltdown. The Satedan left three holes in his wake and eyed a table with plenty of stuff to throw to the ground.

Rodney surprised himself. "Go ahead. It'll make you feel better."

Ronon walked two feet and heaved the nearest instrument tray across the room. Rodney waved away the extra staff that came out at the sounds of destruction and Ronon silently collected himself.

"I should have stopped him," the Satedan growled.

"Stopped who? That...that...freak?"

Ronon fumed silently, his voice heavy and low. "I screwed up. Lost my chance."

Rodney ignored the increased throbbing in his foot and marched up to the larger man, anger flushing his cheeks. "Your _chance_? At what, revenge? Excuse me, but last I checked Sheppard isn't dead and talking about him like he is ...is...stupid. So, drop the whole vengeance spiel and face the fact that you made the right decision."

Ronon snarled and fumed, turning his back on him. Rodney felt the adrenaline leech out of his pores. Every muscle ached, each step felt heavy and he wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep for a week. He didn't realize his hands were shaking until he sank into a chair next to one of the gurneys.

His heart barely had time to slow down as the infirmary filled with the feet and voices of others. Rodney went to rub at his eyes when it dawned on him that his hands were covered in dried blood. When he looked up at the collective anxious faces of Elizabeth, Teyla and Colonel Caldwell, the huddled group stopped their barrage of questions at his haggard and hollow expression.

It didn't matter. Rodney didn't hear a single word through the haze and buzzing of a thunderous headache. Teyla went over to Ronon, and Caldwell and Elizabeth flanked him on each side.

"What happened, Rodney?" she beseeched him, touching his shoulder gently.

"I don't have the foggiest idea," he replied.

* * *

He didn't know how many ways he could spin what transpired in those three minutes. What else did they want from him? Rodney looked at his watch for the hundredth time and noted only two minutes had passed since last he checked. They'd been at this for hours. He squirmed on one of the gurneys to keep pressure off his foot and rubbed his arms up and down absently, suppressing a shiver. Teyla had suggested that he and Ronon change into scrubs instead of discussing things in blood-stained clothes.

"Explain to me again what he looked like," Caldwell insisted.

_Again._

Rodney resisted rolling his eyes. "I. Don't. Know. Think Darth Vader meets one of your black ops guys in all their gear."

Caldwell crossed his arms. "And he was wearing a mask of some type?"

"Yes, a helmet, mask, or goggles. I can't recall, I was a little busy," Rodney replied tersely.

"The colonel is just trying help you remember things so we can identify who attacked John," Elizabeth reasoned with her seasoned, calming tone, but her eyes spoke volumes of how much emotion she was holding back.

Caldwell perched a hip on one of the opposite beds, after the group had taken over a section of Beckett's lair. No one wanted to leave, just in case anything happened, but they needed a place to go over eyewitness accounts.

"Why don't you scour Sheppard's room for fingerprints or DNA. I know, send Zelenka over there to collect evidence. He's always talking about all those forensics shows," Rodney grumbled, tensing as a nurse entered, only to grab a file from one of the desks.

"He was wearing gloves and you're not gonna find anything." All eyes were on Ronon who had, until now, been a silent, sulking observer unless forced to give his account.

Elizabeth beat everyone to the punch. "Why's that?"

Ronon never moved from his place, standing next to the far wall in order to watch the entrance to the infirmary and keep his focus on the closed section of the OR. "Because this guy's too good."

"Oh, great deduction skills there," Rodney insulted.

Ronon rocketed to his full height at the barb, his eyes betraying his fury. Teyla interceded by stepping in front of him. "Maybe we should ask why someone would want to kill Colonel Sheppard."

Elizabeth sighed. "I don't know who would on this expedition. John's well liked, there's been no beef with anyone that I am aware of."

"Perhaps a recent argument with someone or a grievance concerning the newest promotions?" Teyla suggested.

"I can't imagine that anyone would want to murder John over something like that. First off, everyone here has a clean bill of health and passed all psychological evaluations. Secondly..." Elizabeth began to pace. "I don't _have_ a second one because it's a ridiculous idea."

"I don't know, people have gone nuts in less stressful type environments," Rodney injected.

"Why's irrelevant if we can't figure out who," Caldwell stated. He looked at the circle. "I've got a team from the Daedalus going over Sheppard's room for anything that may lead to tracking this guy down." He looked over to the civilian expedition leader. "And with your permission, I think it advisable that Major Lorne be placed in charge of the investigation."

She nodded in approval. "Any word back from him?"

"Nothing new since the last check in," the Colonel responded.

Ronon brushed past Teyla and moved in front of the senior members of Atlantis. "They're wasting their time."

"Care to elaborate?" Caldwell's tone grew weary.

"He wasn't a Marine or any other of our guys." The Satedan paced as he talked. "His protective gear was alien; his moves and techniques superior to anyone on this base."

Rodney couldn't hold his tongue. He needed an outlet and picking on the biggest, scariest man in the room was one way to distract him from counting every second that passed with no word from Beckett. "And you know this from the sixty seconds you tangled with him?"

"He took Sheppard down," Ronon rebuked.

Rodney didn't try to conceal his bitter sarcasm."Yeah, and the colonel wasn't exactly in optimum health either."

"You think someone off world got past all our defense systems, evaded security and tried to kill Sheppard?" Caldwell's disbelief, reflected both the insidious nature of such a plot as well as a whole new threat level.

"I'm saying that this was a professional and he's not going to be easy to find," Ronon warned.

Teyla looked to her friend. "Do you think the colonel is still in danger?"

Ronon answered her, but glared at Rodney as he spoke. "He's in danger as long as the intruder is out there."

Rodney jumped to his feet, wincing as his injured foot took the brunt of his weight. "Why were you looking at me when you said that!"

"Because if you hadn't frozen up, I could have stopped him!" Ronon snarled, quickly closing the distance between the two of them and using his height to full advantage.

Rodney stood toe to toe with the runner and forced himself to peer up without cowering. "I was trying to help Sheppard! While you took your time to debate what was more important to you. Getting into a brawl or saving a friend."

"Survival, McKay. You don't have what it takes to think on your feet in the heat of battle."

Elizabeth pulled Rodney away by the elbow. "Enough! This bickering isn't going to help us at all."

Teyla placed her hand on Ronon's heaving chest. "She is right, there is no blame here."

"For someone so smart, he didn't have a clue what to do," Ronon said, loud enough for everyone to hear. He jerked away from Teyla and resumed his spot against the wall to seethe.

"I'm placing guards outside until we find our suspect," Caldwell said, tapping his com to give instructions.

Elizabeth held out her hands to calm the agitated parties."In the mean time, let's everyone just cool it. We're all upset here."

Rodney ignored her words and marched towards Lorne as the major entered the highly charged room. "Did you get him?" he demanded.

Lorne's stiff jaw revealed his answer. "No, we didn't."

Ronon directed his anger at the man."What are you doing here? Shouldn't you still be tracking?"

Lorne grimaced at his angry words. "My team had just gotten back from a three day, off world mission before this happened. After several hours searching we decided to re-group and discuss getting a schedule of teams to cover Atlantis." He looked at Colonel Caldwell. "This is a big place. It's going to take time and we need to create a grid so the guy doesn't slip through any cracks."

"I agree." Caldwell moved towards the major. "We can meet in the control room and map out the best tactical way to cover the base."

"I'll find him myself," Ronon stated, brushing past them with a hand on his blaster.

"Wait!" Elizabeth didn't allow his size to intimidate her, blocking his path. "We don't need anyone else getting hurt. I don't want you going off alone."

"I'm not the one who's gonna get hurt," Ronon responded and walked past her.

"Don't you want to wait on news on John?" Teyla interceded before he left.

Ronon hesitated. "We have to kill this guy, or it won't matter either way."

The group let the runner go, but it didn't relieve any tension left in the room. Caldwell turned to Elizabeth. "Let me know when you hear from Doctor Beckett."

"We will," Elizabeth answered as the two soldiers left to plan out a better method to hunt down Sheppard's attacker.

The room grew somber with the exodus of the gun toting, let's kill first and damn the consequences mantra of certain members. The low hum of machines and the quiet patter of medical staff in other sections of the infirmary made Rodney's eyes heavy. He resisted, refusing to be seduced by the pull of exhaustion and the toll of stress. At some point he hopped back on the gurney, lost in a sea of regret, anger and doubt. His head found a place against the wall, eyes shut to cut off the matching worried looks of his companions.

Somehow he drifted off, his dreams and nightmares filled with every gory detail of three minutes imprinted forever into memory. His subconscious would dissect and pick apart what could have been done differently. He would deny it to the bitter end, but guilt found a place to curl up deep inside and it began to gnaw away.

* * *

Rodney had never been allowed to see Sheppard following the treatment of the retrovirus. It'd been the colonel's orders and Carson had followed them to the letter. Rodney didn't give a rat's ass about the slow transformation and all its sideshow horrors, but a certain Lt Colonel did care about the perceptions of others, even his friends. Thinking back to those days, he recalled bitterly that Ronon had bullied his way to Sheppard's bedside and eventually had been allowed to stay.

It wasn't until he heard Sheppard's screams during one of the more painful periods, his DNA slowly reverting back to normal, that Rodney understood the reason was to spare them all. He thought that nothing could top his imagination of how ill Sheppard might have looked, tethered to so many machines.

Until now.

He was sick to his stomach even with the relief upon hearing that the colonel had pulled through. It was hard to believe that under all those tubes and wires, lay the military commander of the expedition. All the artificial means to keep him alive made the pilot appear so unbelievably fragile. Sheppard's left leg was propped up with pillows underneath a blanket. A second heavier wool one was pulled up to his chest where a myriad of wires snaked out from under his hospital gown.

Sheppard's right arm was swathed in bandages from his wrist up to his elbow. Rodney had never even noticed the additional injury and that made the pit of his stomach churn.

"What the bloody blazes are ya doin' here, Rodney?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the Scottish accent. "Just checking to make sure for myself."

Carson blocked his view with an angry, reddening face. "I told you that the colonel would be in recovery for several hours until he was settled in enough for visitors."

"So... so he's out of the woods, right?"

The physician's expression softened at Rodney's fear. "Aye, he's out of immediate danger, but he'll be in the ICU for a while."

"Excuse me, Dr. Beckett."

Both men turned to one of the nurses who had assisted earlier during the trauma.

"Yes, love."

"His temp has risen to 95 degrees and his BP is hovering around 80/60. Do you want me to keep running two liters every half hour?"

Carson wandered over towards his patient and Rodney followed, despite the warning glare he got from the nurse. The physician studied the monitors and checked the blood pressure cuff as it automatically inflated. Despite the readouts he placed the back of his hand on Sheppard's forehead, frowning. "Increase the saline to four units every half hour. Keep running it and the O Neg under a warmer for the next few hours. The faster his body temp gets back to normal, the better I'll feel."

She nodded and Carson didn't hide his displeasure at seeing Rodney still lurking. "Rodney---"

"You really did freeze him?"

The doctor sighed. "Aye. Had to do somethin' to slow down his blood flow."

"Are you sure you repaired everything? I mean what if you missed some vessel and he's still leaking blood right under your nose?" Rodney pointed at Sheppard's wan face, his sunken eyes and pasty white pallor. "God, Carson, he looks like...I mean, I've seen dead bodies with more color."

"He lost a lot of volume in a very short amount of time. We were barely able to keep up with replenishing the hemorrhaging durin' the surgery."

Rodney blanched and held onto to the bed rail to steady himself. Carson put a reassuring arm around his shoulders. "We're giving him several more units to bring his pressure back up. As I told all of you after the operation, it's going to take another four or six hours for all his stats to reach acceptable levels."

"And his leg? I mean the whole solider commando thing aside. I'm not sure how the Air Force feels about limps or canes or you know..." He looked up in a panic. "There isn't a chance he might lose it? I mean it wasn't purple, not that I could tell with the pants and the blood and the..."

A hand squeezed his shoulder. "Calm down, Rodney. This is the reason why you were supposed to stay in the waiting room."

"You're avoiding the question. God, I knew it. I told Conan that tying the limb off was dangerous and that you said never to—-

"Rodney," the physician hissed. "Keep quiet. This is a recovery room."

Rodney stared at the frail looking man cocooned by so much stuff. This couldn't be the same animated guy who got up at the crack of dawn to run and could be seen cruising the hallways late at night or keeping tabs in the control room at the most obscene hours.

"The femoral artery was nicked and I was able to tie it off, then I inserted a mesh shunt to repair it. I still have several neuro checks to conduct when he's awake. I feel safe in sayin' that with physical therapy and time, he should make a full recovery." Beckett pursed his lips. "Now that you've gotten a look, it's time for you to go to bed. There's nothing you can do right now."

Rodney didn't budge, checking readouts he didn't have a clue about and unable to come up with a reason to stay.

"Where are Elizabeth and Teyla?" Beckett inquired as he gently guided Rodney away.

"There's no rest for the weary. Seems we still have a Genii meeting to deal with and Teyla went somewhere to search for Chewbacca."

The two walked through the stillness of the infirmary, Rodney hobbling heavily, unable to ignore the throbbing of his foot.

"You need a new set of crutches?"

He shook his head no, knowing that normally Carson would be upset over the loss of medical supplies. "I'll find them."

"Get some rest, Rodney. You've had a rough couple of days."

It was disconcerting to see two Marines guarding the entrance, knowing that a real danger still lurked the city. He gulped, his stomach twisting inside out over the thought that the danger was still at large. Rodney walked back to his quarters in a haze, one question still nagging him.

Despite what Colonel Caldwell said, there was still one word that dogged his thoughts.

_Why._

Motivation, reason, purpose. It was the foundation for all scientific theory. Simple cause and effect. If they could uncover the motivation, maybe they could gain insight into what they were up against. Rodney hoped that their desire to capture their newest enemy was greater than what drove the intruder to try to kill Sheppard.


	6. Chapter 6

Awareness clawed at his eyelids, a dense, heavy fog still obscuring all thoughts. He drifted in and out on waves of blackness; no sounds, no sights, just an endless chasm of nothingness. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this cold; bone-numbingly chilled to the core, unable to feel the slightest bit of warmth. He couldn't shiver because his body was too heavy and time slipped into a sludge-filled void.

He grew anxious; instinct took over and told him to fight. A deep-seated urge to push past the murky depths of his newest prison left him exhausted. The darkness pinned him down, only sharpening the panic. He battled harder, despite how much the resistance drained him. After struggling for so long, the desire to break through the invisible barrier finally rewarded him with renewed sensation.

Every inch of his body awoke with pin pricks and an overwhelming tingling that assailed his nerves. His ears filled with muted sounds... then beeping... and whispering. His eyes were sticky, but he tried to force them to crack open, just a little. Gritty lids slowly peeled open. As consciousness beckoned he was treated to the most unpleasant taste in his mouth.

He had the hellish experience of trying to wake up and salivate at the same time. He was unsuccessful on both counts, though his jaw moved, pulling apart dry lips as he let out a soft groan.

"_John?"_

"_John, can you hear me?"_

He wanted to say yes, but the raw inner lining of his throat wouldn't cooperate when he tried to swallow. As he drew on his oxygen, a tickling made him cough.

Chain reactions were not fun; his eyelids became unglued as he dealt with the vibrations from hacking. The room spun out of control. He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught and the rest of his senses decided to join in the awakening.

The soft beeping sound near his ear increased as did the tone of the people around him.

"_God, what's wrong?"_

"_Rodney, go get Beckett!"_

What was going on and why the hell did he feel like ten miles of bad road? Sheppard pried open his eyes again to a blurry and spinning ceiling. As he tried to make it stop, all the pins and needles grew exponentially worse, causing him to move and flinch.

Big mistake.

His left leg blossomed into an exploding jolt of fiery pain. His groan morphed into a hitching cry, eyes squinching shut once again and leaving him panting. Dots danced along the inside of his eyelids and he vaguely felt someone take his hand in the middle all the agony. It was so gentle he barely registered its reassurance.

"_What's going on?"_

He'd recognize Carson's accent anywhere and he wanted to tell him to please pull out the skewer flambéing his leg. He gasped instead and heard the sounds of McKay in the background, chastising the physician.

"_Do something!"_

Sheppard felt a slight tug at his arm and wondered what it could be, just as the white hot agony dissipated. He felt his body melt into the bed and he allowed the darkness to envelop him once again.

* * *

It was the awkward sensation of a foreign object in his ear that roused him the next time, not the pinching feeling in his right wrist, or the incredible ache across most of his arm. There was a matching cramping in the crook of his other elbow and the rest of his body? That was another ballgame. The white hot poker that had twisted and gnawed at the muscle in his thigh was tempered by whatever flowed through his veins. Most of his left leg still felt on fire but it was tolerable. 

When he tested out his eyes, he blinked a few times but at least the room didn't spin around him like it had the first time. The sand and grime of his mouth made him smack his lips.

"It is good to see you awake."

Turning his head took more effort than it should. "Te'la," he slurred.

She smiled at him, leaning in close to speak. "Don't try to talk too much. Dr. Beckett said you might still be feeling the effects of the anesthesia and intubation."

That would explain the fuzzy feeling of his tongue. "Wat'r?" he asked.

"Ice chips," she replied, grabbing a cup with a plastic spoon. "Just a few at a time."

Damn, he couldn't even lift his head off the pillow so Teyla rested her arms over the rail to feed him a tiny bit at a time. The coolness melted away a little of the foulness but he longed for extra moisture. She obliged by giving him more, until he was too wiped out to swallow.

Teyla put the glass away and studied him. "You had us all very worried."

"S'ory," he mumbled, dragging heavily on the nasal cannula. He bit his lower lip, taking stock of himself, knowing better than to move.

The cold he'd felt before hadn't waned and the shards of ice Teyla had doled out had triggered a set of unrelenting shivers. It was as if he slept on a mattress of sleet and ice that sucked every molecule of heat out of his body. He couldn't move his hands to rub them up and down his arms to create friction. He wondered if he wasn't lost in the wasteland of Antarctica, hallucinating within its frigid hold.

"Do you want another blanket?"

He didn't answer right away, still gaining his bearings. The fact that he wasn't able to control the trembling seemed to be indication enough for Teyla as she nodded with a small smile and left. The shaking woke him further, pulling and tugging at his tubes and lines in the process. A BP cuff inflated around his left bicep every few minutes, a clip covered a pointer finger and he didn't dare move his leg propped up by several small pillows.

Bits and pieces of what led him to this predicament began filling in the holes of his Swiss cheesed mind. Teyla returned and unfolded a heavy wool blanket, covering him with it, careful of his many attachments. The added layer insulated him more, but his skin still crawled with goose flesh.

He was grateful nonetheless. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You are very welcome." She began tucking parts of it in as she spoke. "Rodney will be very pleased to see you awake. He's been very..." She paused as she chose her words. "Concerned."

He remembered laying on the floor of his room, the cold fingers of death wrapping around him as all of his warmth poured out into red pools beneath his body. "Did they catch him?"

Her face grew dark, frowning. "No, not yet. Everyone is searching Atlantis for the person who assaulted you."

The black figure was well trained, versed in special combat. His own unofficial special training had proved no match. His heart beat faster at the realization that he could have led others right into danger. "Anyone hurt?" he asked.

Teyla touched his shoulder. "Everyone is fine." She searched the dim room. "A nurse just left from checking your vitals. I should tell her and Dr. Beckett that you're awake now."

That would explain the poking in his ear earlier, a digital thermometer no doubt. He nodded, frustrated at how weak he felt. He drifted off but no sooner had he closed his eyes than he heard two people arguing.

"Teyla just said he woke up; can't you wait just a few minutes before you begin interrogating him?"

That was Rodney's familiar voice, though he couldn't imagine who the man was fighting with.

"See? He's asleep again."

His eyes fluttered open. "I'm awake," he said, more for himself than for the company.

Major Lorne approached his bedside with Rodney in tow, looking absolutely awful.

"You look... like crap, McKay," he croaked. He had to breathe deeply to regain his voice.

"Well, you should see yourself in a mirror, colonel," Rodney snapped back, but his tone was tinged with affection.

Lorne cleared his throat, shooting the physicist a look before talking to his CO. "Nice to see you up, sir."

It was hard to keep up appearances, his ability to actually keep his eyes open a chore. The major must have sensed his imminent descent and his face grew serious. "Do you remember anything about what happened, sir? Did you see the guy or know who he was?"

"No," he said, struggling to get comfortable. The pain in his leg was becoming more prominent, the throbbing pronounced.

"What do you remember?"

"Comin' in... after talkin' with you."

Lorne's face betrayed guilt, but Sheppard took another shuddering breath. "Put... my gun away... Th-the usual." He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to recall any details, ignoring the searing in his thigh. "Nuthin' much. Just gettin' ready... for a shower when..." He paused.

"When what, sir?"

"Just give him a break, Major," Rodney's irate voice cut through. "He can barely string a whole sentence together."

Lorne ignored the scientist. "Just a few questions, sir. Then you can sleep."

He shifted, not at all at ease with the implication that he wasn't up for this. He'd been more seriously injured in the past, in more pain. The least he could do was offer some clues to what the hell happened.

He grit his teeth as he tried to adjust his body and took a moment to ride out the lancing pain. "He just... came out of... nowhere," he ground out.

"Were the doors closed and secured?"

Were they? He tried to recall. "Yeah." He had thought them closed.

"And you didn't notice anyone lurking when you first walked inside?"

"No." And that bugged the hell out of him. How did the bastard get inside his quarters?

"The doors were locked when Ronon and I got there. I told you that already," Rodney growled.

Lorne glared at McKay. "Did he say anything to you?"

Sheppard felt his jaw clench. "No, he was... the silent type."

His tags. The asshole took his dog tags. He lifted a shaky hand to reach for the silver chain, tracing it down. Fingers got caught with some of the wire leads until he felt the aluminum and gripped it. "Bastard took one of 'em," he mumbled.

Rodney and Lorne leaned in to get a closer look, obviously finding the theft an intriguing clue.

"Why the hell would someone try to kill you and then hang around to swipe one of those?" Rodney wondered out loud. "Did he take it in the middle of your knockdown fight?"

Sheppard remembered the way the smug bastard had stared at him after he'd been knifed and was bleeding to death. He felt the bile burn the back of his parched throat. "He stood there ...an' waited."

Lorne stiffened, Rodney didn't say a word which was even more telling. People tried to kill him all the time; it was a requisite of being a solider. But not very many took pleasure in watching. Well, maybe a few, but this guy acted immune to it all. Sheppard felt a chill go up his spine and wanted to bury himself deeper within the meager comfort of his covers.

"Bloody hell. I leave to check up on the rest of my patients and you two come in and disturb the colonel when he should be restin'."

Rodney pointed an accusing finger at Lorne. "I told him to wait."

Lorne bristled but kept his cool. "Sorry, Doc. I had to find out what happened first hand." He turned to his CO. "I'll come back later to keep you apprised of any progress."

Sheppard automatically pushed up on his hands, trying to straighten. He balled his fist up in response to the anguish consuming his entire leg.

"Easy lad, no fidgeting around," Carson reprimanded.

It was hard to override the signal to move but his beaten body let him know it wasn't ready for such jostling. A gasp escaped his lips and the room began to tilt on its side as the shredded muscle overloaded his pain receptors. He couldn't do a damn thing but lay helpless and wait out the next wave.

He could hear McKay's frantic voice whirl around with the buzzing in his head. Before he could tell them he was fine, a familiar, warm fuzzy sensation poured into his vein from a pinch in his arm. Sheppard opened his eyes in time to see Carson finish injecting something in his IV.

"No... not yet." There were still things he needed to know. The city was on high alert and no one had briefed him about their progress.

"You just got out of major surgery, son. Let your body begin the long healing process."

"Umph...what abo't...the ..Geniiiiii," he slurred.

"They can wait. I don't want ya getting all worked up."

No, Carson didn't understand and he struggled against the black tide that threatened to pull him back into the abyss. "Mc'ky."

The physicist's blurry face peered down on him; he saw worried blue eyes and he wouldn't tolerate that. "Rod--"

"Shhhhh. Will you just let the good drugs do their job? You're on gobs and gobs of morphine; let the happy little cloud take you away. The disasters and tribulations will still be here when you wake up."

He lost the battle, the fire of his injured limb dying down along with the voices softly discussing him. Sheppard's lips grew numb, and he was only vaguely aware of someone removing the blanket over his leg. He heard in the recess of his mind Beckett mutter about inspecting the wound. Just before the lights went out, Sheppard realized he'd never even asked how he was doing.

* * *

Ronon had been in the darkened labyrinth of Atlantis for over a day, the green, shimmering walls and black-shadowed corners revealing nothing. He would freeze, waiting for a shift in heat signatures, only to stare at the same set of hues. He'd slip off the night goggles to scrutinize with his own keen eyes for spacial anomalies, only to find the same empty space stare back at him. 

He'd crouched, fingers tracing the cold, damp ground that revealed centuries old dust and non use. His heart beat in a steady cadence, nothing pinged on his internal radar. Nothing in his gut; no rumble or signal to raise the hairs along his neck. He gripped his blaster, pausing every few feet to study the next corner, fingers curled and ready.

The odor of mildew from flooding filled his nostrils along with old chemical fumes from abandoned labs. Death and decay lay in areas left untouched since life had renewed the city. One corridor after another, rooms of every shape and size that could conceal the intruder were left undisturbed.

Where was the blood? Tiny speckles, droplets or even the smell of it were absent. He had winged the alien, inflicting a wound. Yet there was nothing.

He ticked off each section as he passed, the time creeping long into another night. Atlantis was huge and the ability to back track and dart in and out of sectors for days was a real possibility for a skilled person. He gnawed at his bottom lip, trying to quell the rising heat, furious at his inability to save Sheppard and stop the intruder.

Time marched on; the odds of catching the guy grew larger. This was a feeling he knew far too well. Life and death. Prey and the predator.

Seven years he'd been enslaved; seven years removed from social niceties. His home world was a smoldering rock, his life burned away with the rest of the city he'd sworn to protect. His failures had been measured on each planet where he'd been forced to hide and fight. Most would have considered his life a set of lost battles, every Wraith corpse a hollow victory.

Until a year ago.

He spun around another corner, confronting another defeat. There was no way of knowing if the alien had occupied the last place searched; moving from room to room as teams left them. His body remained rigid, his ribs twinging slightly, reminding him of a few weeks ago.

When he'd gone back to Sateda. Back to life as a slave, an animal on a leash with just enough give before being jerked back and hunted down. It'd been a reminder, a taste of how things could revert back in an instant. No more secure surroundings, no one else to count on. But this time the tables had been turned and he'd stalked the one who'd made him a runner.

Instead of facing his demons alone, his team had his back. They had done the impossible to find him, never giving up. That was the John Sheppard way, his doctrine. It was one of many things he admired and respected about the man. They shared the same language. Sheppard had once called them a dynamic duo, even if he hadn't really understood what that had meant.

This was more than a debt to pay. It was loyalty; an allegiance, but it was also an internal promise to protect his friend and he had failed.

When he was ordered to meet back in the control room, he almost dismissed it. After a second and third attempt to reach him, he nearly turned off the com. Instead he sighed. He was part of something now, had been allowed to join a group who could defeat the Wraith. Trust was had been bestowed upon him by one and slowly shared by everyone else. He would not tarnish the faith placed in him.

But that didn't mean when he stormed into the meeting, that he'd hide his displeasure at being summoned in the middle of tracking.

"Good of you to join us," Caldwell said, leaning back in his chair.

Ronon turned to Elizabeth. "You called me back for a reason."

"Our teams have been searching for over a day and we thought it'd be a good idea to re-evaluate things," she reasoned.

"He's not leaving anything behind for us to find," Ronon replied.

Lorne shook his head. "The problem is, nothing is showing up on the life signs detectors. Nothing from scans, the command room and no reports from the field."

Ronon rested a hand on his gun. "So?"

Lorne allowed frustration to cloud his face. "We have to face the possibility that this person is one of our guys and has blended back with the general population--"

"You're wrong," Ronon interrupted gruffly.

Caldwell got to his feet, adjusting his jumpsuit. "Or he's already left Atlantis the same way he entered."

"Or he has technology that cloaks him from our sensors. He's still out in the abandoned areas," Ronon replied.

Lorne slapped two hands on the table, leaning over one of the diagrams of Atlantis. "Without a way to locate the suspect, the only thing we can do is post guards at the major intersections from the empty portions to the populated, until our internal investigation gets concluded or one of our teams locates the guy."

Teyla rose out of her chair and was by Ronon's side in two quiet steps. "What about until then?"

Caldwell took the stage, speaking in a calm and commanding tone. "We're taking the attempted murder of the military commander very seriously. Gate travel has been suspended until further notice. All priority sectors of the city are being protected and Major Lorne is going to meet with Zelenka about any physical evidence gathered from Colonel's Sheppard's quarters and review security tapes. There was a small blood trail in the hall that vanished a few feet later and we're hoping it'll give us a clue."

_Yeah, that blood had been a dead end, Ronon thought._

"We'll be conducting inquires to eliminate any internal suspects before centering our focus on alien possibilities," Elizabeth interjected.

"We also have the Genii situation to deal with in the next two days," Caldwell said, clearing his throat.

"The meeting is still on?" Teyla inquired.

Elizabeth crossed her arms. "Even with a situation of this magnitude we still have the greater responsibility to the principles of this expedition and that includes trying to build ties with the Genii."

"Sheppard won't like being out of the loop on that," Ronon pointed out.

"We know, but I think Colonel Sheppard realizes the importance of this during his absence," Caldwell replied.

"Doesn't the timing of such an event after what just took place seem..." Teyla paused, searching their faces. "Odd?"

"Yes, it does," Lorne answered without haste.

"It's something we'll examine as well," Caldwell finished.

The meeting devolved into more theories and ideas that Ronon tuned out. He remained out of courtesy, his brain three steps ahead of anything discussed. When the conference was over, he felt the need to prowl again, but Teyla would not allow it.

"You need to rest or you will not be in any shape to help find the person behind this."

"What I need to do is go back out there," Ronon said, undeterred.

She would not have any of it, forcefully guiding him towards the hallway in the direction of the mess hall. "You should eat and then sleep. The morning holds new possibilities."

"How is Sheppard?" he asked, avoiding the topic.

Teyla contemplated before speaking. "You know he is resting."

"I knew he was okay when no one contacted me after I left the other day. Even checked in with Beckett," he said, defending his choice to go after the intruder instead of visiting.

She studied his face. "I know you conceal your concern with this desire for revenge. Do not forget that John needs our support in other ways."

Guilt was a familiar weight that bore down on his shoulders, the tonnage growing heavier. "He is going to be all right?"

"John's in a lot of pain, but Dr. Beckett says he is doing well. He is weak and I think that bothers him greatly. They want to see him try to get up and move around."

Ronon balled up his fists, but was unable to unburden himself to her. "Maybe I'll go see him."

She placed a hand on his upper arm. "Wait until tomorrow. He needs his sleep, as do you. I am sure he'll be happy to have the company."

"I want to..." Anger swelled again, at his failure towards his commander.

"We cannot drown in regrets, Ronon. We owe it to ourselves and to the people that we care about to rise above such treacherous waters." Teyla waited to see if he understood.

Ronon wanted to; he knew what had happened in the past could not change. It was a motto that had gotten him by for so many years. Regrets were things he let go in order to carry on. This time they threatened to undo the fragile state he'd taken so long to achieve.

* * *

Sleep was cotton balls stuffed in his ears, lead weight over his eyes and white fluffy clouds. He shifted from glaciers, to icy river water, and finally to warmth. The brief bouts of lucidity he remembered consisted of a poker twisting in his thigh only to be extinguished by morphine cocktails. This was the third time he had awakened, but the first he felt coherent enough to wonder what time it was. 

There were curtain dividers up for privacy and he thought he was tucked away in one of the remote corners of the infirmary for security reasons. Sheppard glanced up at the ceiling, trying to recognize patterns he had memorized from visits past. The pain made his leg feel like it was slowly roasting over an open flame, but he wasn't going to allow himself to be snowed under again. He heard footsteps approach his bed, then he saw Carson emerge from the other side of the curtain.

"How am I doing, Doc?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Carson grinned, his bright expression belying the dark shadows under his eyes. "A lot better now that you've pinked up a wee bit."

Sheppard noticed he was absent one tube; no more donations from the blood bank. "That's good."

The Scot watched the BP cuff inflate, then he turned to several digital readouts, making nonsensical noises to himself. Seeming satisfied he pushed down the railing of the bed. "Now that you're more aware, I'm afraid I have to run a few tests that might prove a bit uncomfortable."

Sheppard remembered what Carson had said earlier about fidgeting and settled for a noncommittal sound.

Beckett grinned. "It'll be just a second, after I take a look at my handiwork here. I'll try to be gentle," he added as he pulled out a pair of scissors from his lab coat pocket.

Sheppard's eyes grew large. "Aren't I cut up enough?"

The physician eyed him wearily. "Not funny, Colonel. I'm just checking the stitches and I'd imagine you'd prefer I not lift your leg right now to unwrap the bandages."

"No," Sheppard said, relaying exactly how he felt about that choice.

Carson pulled away the blanket and sheet, rolling Sheppard's gown up to expose his thigh. "Since your temperature is almost back to normal, I'll be leavin' your leg out from under the sheet so my staff can check the wound periodically for infection and to change the dressing."

The upper part of the limb was a dreadful mess of blotched flesh tones, pinks, red and inflamed areas. The line of double stitching stuck out as a dark color against a sea of angry flesh. Carson examined with gentle hands and another expression of contentment. Satisfied, the physician folded over the rest of the linen to one side to uncover the rest of his leg.

"I need to conduct some tests to verify that the impeded blood flow didn't cause any nerve damage."

Sheppard kept his face neutral, though inside his mind screamed with worry. The words _nerve_ and _damage _could ground a pilot permanently. He licked dry lips, breathing deeply on his oxygen. "'Kay," he responded quietly but was not successful at hiding the anxiousness from in his voice.

The physician pulled from his lab coat pocket what looked like a large straight pin, or the biggest sewing needle he'd ever seen. "Now just relax," Carson coaxed, running the tip of it finely along the sole of his foot.

His foot reacted and even that tiny movement flexed other ligaments and muscle, causing him to grunt when the nerve signals fired through the rest of his limb.

"Quit ticklin' me," Sheppard choked out as he tried to jerk his foot away.

"Sorry, lad. Good news is your toes curled in which means no sign of nerve damage."

"Gooood," he groaned.

"Your Babinski sign was negative, so two more, then we're done." Carson searched for more magical goodies from the depths of his coat, retrieving a little rubber hammer. "This won't hurt."

Sheppard wanted to remind him that anything that created movement in his leg hurt, but grit his teeth as the doctor tapped the instrument around his ankle. The one thing he didn't want to admit was being awake now for a grand total of five minutes was proving nearly too much. He waited for the next inevitable torture, and forced his eyes open to Carson's sympathetic face.

"This is the one that might hurt the worst," Carson explained, rubber hammer in hand.

"Just... get it over with, Doc," Sheppard said, cringing at the gravelly sound of his voice.

Beckett popped the head of the mallet lightly against his knee. Even though his thigh was cushioned on all sides by pillows, the sought after reflex made his lower leg flinch. All ten fingers dug into the bed, his teeth gnashing together and his body stiffening in response. After the red faded to white beneath squished eyelids, his breathing evened out to normal levels.

"All done, and everything is looking great," Carson said in a cheery tone, pulling the sheet up to his left knee and arranging the rest of the blankets to cover most of his torso. "You warm enough?"

"Yeah," he gritted out, but now the nice long gash on his right arm added to the chorus of his screaming body. The floaty clouds were being ripped apart by simple, everyday movement; the stretching of skin and muscle.

"You're due for another dosage of pain meds; I just needed ya to be more awake."

"It's... fine." Sheppard swallowed. "How long... will I be in here?"

Carson stared at him as if he'd inquired about joining the circus. "Look, Doc, I just want a time table." He fought the fatigue from talking and tried to muster up some strength to his voice. "There's a lot of crap happenin' at once and I..."

"Save it, Colonel," Beckett interrupted brusquely. "Right now there's no deadline to meet when it comes to your health. You're weak as a newborn kitten, and you have massive trauma to your leg that's going to take physical therapy and time to heal. Let's not forget that arm laceration that cut to the bone, mind ya---"

"Doc--"

The physician held out his hand to cut him off. "You've been out of surgery barely twenty-four hours where my nurses we're havin' to push as much blood volume back in ya as you were leakin' out. You'll be feelin' anemic, you can't put any weight on your leg, and when we force you to get up and move around tomorrow it'll be no picnic, believe me."

The ticked off Scottish accent was like tiny seismic waves in Sheppard's head, a growing ache between the temples as he fought not to flinch. He HATED this. If he held up his hand... it'd shake. If he so much as wiggled a little, then the ramifications stole his breath away. His left leg was like a damn lightning rod ---when he was awake to feel it.

He couldn't be bedridden, not during so many crises. He just needed to get back on his feet, grin and bear the pain until there was time to deal with it later. A day when untrustworthy Genii leaders weren't playing games with them and his team wasn't being ambushed on some planet.

_Let's not forget someone just tried to kill you, John._

Sheppard had tuned out the rant until he heard his name being called.

"Damn it, have you been paying attention, lad?"

Truth be told he was feeling dizzy again, and he felt worn and frayed as a tattered blanket. "No... not really," Sheppard admitted.

Carson looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I shouldn't lash out like that. I just want ya to understand how serious this is. You have a call button and I want you to use it, son. If you're feeling bad or something's bothering ya, let one of my staff know."

"Sure thing," he replied, feeling exhaustion dig its heels in.

"I've got you on blood thinners, but I'll wait until you're out of it to send Carol over."

"Just another shot, right?" Sheppard dared to ask.

"No, lad. They go in your stomach, I'm afraid."

"Oh, the stomach, huh... Yeah... maybe when I'm asleep," he replied, the usual hint of humor to his words lost.

The blackness was already claiming victory and he knew that he'd have to fight harder than this to make any headway. Sheppard would be damned if he played the role of wounded solider, while leaving decisions about the security of Atlantis to be made by others while he was on the mend.

* * *

The Hunter trained his weapon from above, his line of sight even with the back of the head of one the soldiers. The unit numbered five and if he squeezed the trigger now, then he'd get off three more shots before the last one knew anything. Always kill the one in back, confusing the others just enough to take the rest out. The military men canvassed the corridor, entering the room to the left, then the right. 

After each sweep they moved out, his gun still zeroed in at the sweet spot from his perch in the rafter. When the unit went on to another sector, he rested his gun on a knee and waited. They were not his target and he did not kill unnecessarily.

Nothing.

He'd studied the blobs of reds and oranges approaching, all muscles perfectly still to keep his location secret. His armor protected him from their scans but even a twitch could cause the metal beam to creak. He lowered his breaths to only a few per minute. Only once the danger was past did he descend back down to the floor, his back to the wall.

No one had ever looked up.

He entered the room to the left; it had two doors, an exit and an entrance. The Hunter lowered his body to sit in the middle, his attention on both. Always pick an area with more than one means of escape. He listened to the air, for fluctuations and movements, the screen inside his helmet relaying no one else occupying the same space.

Brain signals switched off the thermal readings of his mask with normal vision replacing it. He didn't risk removing his helmet again, the fissures from his target's earlier weapon blast making it too fragile to take off and on too often.

Gloved fingers tapped a combination on the panel on his wrist and the exoskeleton shimmered before turning off. He probed the long break in the outer layer, testing out the repair, ensuring it held together under the patchwork. Carefully, he traced the beginning edge near his hip, manipulating the plating until it pulled apart. He peeled it away, exposing his entire side.

He inspected the long row of stitching, his gray flesh white on both sides of the sutures. He pulled out a small circular container of salve and applied more to the healing laceration. It burned, but not as badly as the topical antibiotics and not even close to when he'd weaved the thread to sew up the skin.

It was a moderate wound, just enough to affect some range of motion. The one thing he should have counted on was his target's team mates. During the test, his intel had indicated that the man, Sheppard, commanded strong loyalty from his unit. They worked collectively, cohesively; all signs of a shared connection. The Satedan's presence intrigued him; most of that warrior's kind had been considered long gone.

A slip in blood had cost him honor; forced to seek escape before being outnumbered by military security. He pulled out the identification tag from one of his pockets, fingering the indentions in the metal.

He took the jewelry as a sign of admiration, a trophy worth keeping of a formidable opponent. Sheppard had proved skillful in his ability to defend against his attack. Most victims succumbed to a strike in seconds; this 'Lantean showed signs of great skill, even after being weakened by the test on the planet.

Too bad. Had he been successful, it would not have been a hundred percent clean kill. He gripped the metal tag in failure. His target still lived and the city was on full alert. He rose to his feet, hand testing out the weakness of mask's filtration unit caused by his target's gun. It still functioned well enough.

He closed his eyes, feeling every beat of his heart, maintaining complete control of his body, shutting off the pain receptors to his wound. All that mattered was retaining face, regaining a superior advantage. Seek out the weakness once more to be exploited. He knew where his target was located; all that remained was to devise the means to neutralize him.

He thought back to the days of observation when he had to be keep his distance. Every hour he'd followed, this Sheppard ensured the security of his city. The target was constantly surrounded by others with no opportunity to strike available. It was helpful reconnaissance to observe how the man operated, but the 'Lantean had somehow become aware of his presence.

It was fascinating, really. To his knowledge this Sheppard had no telepathic power, just the gene of the Ancestors. The Hunter rubbed a leather-gloved thumb over the silver trophy, deliberating. There were several options left to finish the deed, a few more honorable than others. Maybe the time spent learning about his subject would prove most helpful.

The Hunter had the tools at his disposal, knowing with experience that there were many ways to take out an objective. He would repair the black mark of his failure and seek out the Order's judgment of this mission. If he died while carrying out the tradition successfully, then all would be made right. If he lived to seek their counsel, then he would accept whatever punishment they deemed necessary.

Whatever the outcome, he would not stop until his mission was complete.


	7. Chapter 7

Sheppard was forced to lay around all day flat on his back. He didn't see a difference between his bed and a prison cell, except there were curtains instead of bars. What he was even less thrilled about was an audience to his incarceration.

It was difficult to eat dinner when he was on so many narcotics that the fork wobbled in his grip. He kept telling himself it was the drugs, not the fact that he was in this poor a shape, unable to feed himself without making a mess all over his hospital gown. One thing was for sure even if a nurse wasn't around to help, no way in hell was he going to let McKay lend a hand.

"Oh, come on, I'm just trying to save Carson's staff the extra work. You don't want them to have to clean up after you, too," Rodney muttered as he tried to wrestle the utensil away.

Sheppard threw it on the tray and pushed his lunch away. "Not hungry," he grumbled.

"Oh, that's mature. And for the record, you're always famished when you're cooped up in here. You don't even have to wait in line for your meal."

"Then you can eat it."

"Stop being so pissy."

"Don't you have something better to do?"

The physicist snatched the tray, causing all the silverware to clatter to the floor as he marched over to place it on a side table. "Oh, yes, my idea of a fun time is getting into a squabble with a moody, sulking fly boy, who's miserable and trying to make all those around him feel the same way."

Maybe he _was_ being a jerk, but Sheppard didn't know how to share his frustration any other way. His leg was a dull throb of pain even doped to the gills on his happy juice. There was nothing to do when he was awake and when he tried to fill the time with sleep a nurse came by almost every hour to check computer readouts, stick a thermometer in his ear, listen to his breathing and poke and prod his thigh. At least the leg wound weeped and drained less, making the re-dressing a faster process than before and his arm didn't require as much attention, even if it did still ache. He cradled it closer to his chest, cursing over the fact it was his predominant one.

His grimace didn't go unnoticed and, once again, Rodney was back to agitated, worried friend. "You want me to--"

"No," Sheppard replied, his eyes closed.

"What about adjusting the bed so you're more upright?"

"No," he sighed as he breathed heavily on his O2.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"You know, I was researching anemia, since that's the closest thing you're experiencing right now, and, um...Carson's got you on loads of supplements and in a few days you'll be feeling better."

Sheppard wiped at his sweaty forehead, raking his fingers through his tussled hair. He needed a shave and a shower. He felt grimy, his skin slick with perspiration from a low grade fever. He didn't want to imagine what his reflection looked like in the mirror, knowing his pallor would give even Casper a run for his money.

"You going to the meeting?" he asked changing the subject.

"Of course I am. I wouldn't miss the company of people who have tried to kill me on several occasions." Rodney stood next to his bed and began to pace. "We're taking no chances. Lorne and a bunch of Marines will go to the planet first, and then send the coordinates to Ladon."

Sheppard nodded, but Rodney didn't notice too lost in the game plan. "Once the Genii arrive they'll be disarmed. The rest of us will go and listen to what he has to say. If it's satisfactory, then we'll set up a meeting on Atlantis." He paused in his pacing and tapped the metal railing. "It's not a bad plan."

"Yeah, it's not," Sheppard replied. It'd been _his_ plan.

"Caldwell will have the Daedalus monitor things from orbit, just in case."

"Of course he will," Sheppard mumbled. He wanted to be there every encounter with the Genii had proved to be more than met the eye.

He grabbed the bed control, pressing the device to increase the angle until he was sitting up more. As it climbed in degrees, so did the rotation of an invisible, searing knife. He held his breath, enduring the digging of the dagger.

"I thought you said you didn't want to move?"

Sheppard finally let go of the button, barely able to tolerate the increased strain on the limb and resulting shock waves. It was still a small victory to be sitting up more.

"Which planet did you pick out?" he asked, a tremble in his voice.

"PMX-5571, the one we were talking about before... well, before--" Rodney's hand gestured in the air, trying to come up with a politically correct term.

"Before I was skewered," Sheppard said matter of factly.

Rodney took offense. "Oh, there you go again, hiding everything behind a joke."

"If _I_ can't make fun of it...who can?" Sheppard said, staring at his leg.

"You almost died."

_Alone on some freaking floor. _"Yeah, but I didn't." Sheppard stared the scientist right in the eye. "It happened, but now I need to get back on my feet and help out with--"

"Excuse me Colonel Oblivious, but just in case you forgot, there's some guy out there with an ax to grind for you."

"A lot of people haven't liked me. I'm used to it."

Rodney's face puffed up when he got mad, veins along his forehead protruding, his voice rising an octave. "There was more blood on the floor than inside you, Colonel. This wasn't a ..."

"Rodney... "

"You were a goner. A warmed over corpse had more life than---"

"Enough!"

"Why?" Rodney, with all his frazzled hair, fidgety hands and loud mouth, floundered for only a second before he was full speed ahead. "A belt and towels kept you alive. Ronon and his hands. Carson with forceps and a hell of a lot of hope."

"And I'm fine!"

"Fine?" Rodney pointed at his mangled leg and all the nifty little cushions under it. "You call that fine?"

Moving hurt. Getting all worked up made the beeping monitors beat at a frantic rhythm. Hearing what he didn't want to got the blood flowing, adding color to his cheeks that'd been absent the past few days. "Yes, damn it!"

"You are so full of it!"

"Can I do anything about the guy in my quarters, McKay?" Sheppard's fingers balled and twisted up the bed sheets. "The answer's no." He kept talking in a low, throaty rumble. "I don't know who wants to see me dead and I can't control something outa of my hands.

What I_ can_ do, is get out of this bed and help out with our other problems. Like not letting my team get ambushed again when we walk out of that wormhole. Or negotiate alone with people who've pulled the rug out from under us on numerous occasions."

"Oh, yes, I forgot. You're Superman. The people of Metropolis are incapable of handling things alone because they're so used to The Man of Steel swooping in and rescuing them at the end of the day." Rodney's voice grew more acidic as he spoke. "Guess what Colonel? We can handle things ourselves and you need to face the fact that you're mortal."

There was more to Rodney's tirade; Sheppard knew the man masked things he didn't want to admit with anger and arrogance. This time he couldn't get past that, too wrapped up in his own theatrical production of denial about his situation. "I have a job to do, McKay. I have to test my limitations every day because lives count on it. I don't have the luxury--"

"Why don't you save this for one of your speeches to rally the troops? Seems they'll buy the whole _it's better to come back on your shield _thing than the rest of us sane people."

Ronon's voice boomed from inside the curtained off area. "That's not a bad motto at all."

Both heads turned to face the new visitor as the Satedan's eyes pierced the physicist with a blatant mock.

All of Rodney's muscles tensed, his jaw jutted out and he balled up his fists. Sheppard's eyebrows furrowed as he wondered what he'd missed between the two of them. The air shuddered with the increased hostility and he licked his lips, wrestling with a way to get the situation under control.

But the arguing had garnered the wrong type of attention and, before any man could continue the argument, Carson stormed over, adding to the mix of emotions.

"What is going on here?" He turned to face his patient. "Your vitals just spiked and Janice said she heard a commotion." Carson pinned each visitor with a scolding expression. "This is an infirmary. There will be no bloody fightin'. If I catch either of you fussing with the colonel, I'll have both of ya banned during the duration of his stay." The irate Scot waited, watching to see if his words sank in.

Rodney marched over to the table with the abandoned food tray and snatched his PDA. "I've got things to attend to."

Sheppard watched him storm away and Ronon enter apprehensively. What was with everyone acting so out of character around him?

Carson derailed that train of thought by breezing over to take in the newest readings. "Well, I'm glad to see you awake for more than a few minutes, lad. I was thinking it was time to get you on your feet."

Sheppard's face brightened at the idea. "Yeah?"

The doctor's mannerisms didn't speak as highly about the prospect. "We'll see how excited you are in a little while. I think Janice is busy with another patient and I'll need her assistance to get you mobile."

"I'll help," Ronon offered, standing next to the physician.

Carson eyed him and, once again, Sheppard was confused by the downright earnest need in Ronon's voice. Something was definitely bothering his friend.

Beckett pursed his lips, but Ronon wasn't having any of the man's hesitation.

"Just tell me what to do."

Sighing, the doc relented. "Alright, but we'll do this slowly."

Beckett pushed down the metal rail and pulled away the sheet and blanket covering his patient's legs, folding them over the foot of the bed. Sheppard suppressed a shiver from the draft, but Carson wasn't fooled. The physician left and returned with an additional gown, throwing it around Sheppard's shoulders. The doctor then disconnected his oxygen and hooked the line up to a portable tank that hung from the IV pole.

Ronon stood stiffly, obviously unsure where he could lend aid. Carson wheeled the IV stand closer, ensuring the tubing wouldn't be in the way. The doctor assembled the catheter equipment and hung the bag on a hook at the bottom. Sheppard felt an uncomfortable tug and became acutely aware of how undignified this was going to be.

"I'm keeping the BP cuff wrapped around you; I want to take a few measurements as you get acclimated to standing before we move you to a chair. I don't want to risk you fai-- um, passing out on us."

"That would be bad," Sheppard said in a wry tone.

Carson turned to Ronon. "I want you to take his left side and support him as we get him to his feet- **slowly. **If he begins to sway or I tell you to lay him back down, do it gently. I don't want any sudden movements.

"Got it, Doc," Ronon said, moving over.

Carson looked at Sheppard in all seriousness. "Let me do most of the work right now."

Sheppard nodded, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. The heavy set of bandages that encircled his thigh felt like armor and ugly black and blue streaked out from under the dressing. Carson gently guided the limb away from the bed, flexing the torn and cut up muscle in the process. Every nerve ignited, screaming in protest at the movement of damaged tissue.

"Try to scoot up to the edge of the bed, Colonel."

The accent cut through a the buzzing in his head as he pushed forward with both hands, Carson helping swing both his legs over. He grunted, sucking in a harsh breath as his vision grew fuzzy, and squeezed his eyes closed.

"Easy now." Carson's voice, once again, was a beacon in a sea of misery.

Sheppard felt the BP cuff inflate around his arm as he waited for the spasms to taper off. The room spun and his stomach went queasy on him. His entire body trembled and he puffed for air like a choo-choo train.

"The head rush will settle in a second, you're doing fine," Carson soothed.

Sheppard didn't even want to look up at Ronon, feeling too humiliated. "Sure," he choked out, trying to tame his galloping heart.

Then he felt a hand grip his upper arm. "You're halfway there, Sheppard." Ronon gave him an encouraging expression.

Sheppard lifted his head from its bowed position and gave a weak grin. "Yeah."

"Now wrap your left arm around my shoulders,"Carson instructed.

Sheppard did as he was told, grabbing a hold of the doctor, the IV pinching the crook of his arm. "'Kay," he breathed heavily.

"Ronon," Carson signaled.

Satedan came up beside Sheppard and slung Sheppard's other arm around his neck, each man supporting his weight on both sides.

"On a count of three, let us pull you up," Carson ordered.

"Alright," Sheppard said between gritted teeth.

He was propelled forward and away from the support of the bed. The world tried to flip upside down as his feet found the floor and his left leg quaked, his knee unable to lock as it threatened to buckle. Ronon and Carson's shoulders held him up and their arms around his waist anchored him place, keeping him balanced.

"Easy does it. You still with us, Colonel?"

"Y-yes," his voice hitched, as the tremble in his bad leg worsened.

"Try to move just a wee bit. One step at a time," Carson reiterated, rolling the IV stand along.

Sheppard leaned on both his friends, depending heavily on his good leg. The room still tried to pull a few G Forces on him, playing havoc with his balance. He dragged his left leg along the floor, not trusting that it wouldn't just crumple from under him. Every second upright, his blood circulated with the much needed activity, testing out which parts of him worked and which were faulty.

He couldn't no longer delay the inevitable and finally placed weight on his left leg, experiencing first hand how a circuit felt when it fried from too much juice overloading it. On step five, the imaginary pins holding his body together began to pop out and even adrenaline couldn't keep the scotch tape from unraveling. Sheppard let out a groan half-way to the chair, four steps from collapsing under the pressure.

Ronon hefted his sagging weight. "You can do this, Sheppard."

"Colonel?" Carson's worried tone and Ronon's steadfast encouragement made him redouble his efforts.

"I-I'm... good," he grunted, fighting the fire that radiated down his entire limb.

He used the pain, fought it tooth and nail, one inch at a time. The three of them made pathetic progress, like partiers unable to walk in a straight line after a binge. By the time the blessed chair was within reach, his entire body quivered from stress and exhaustion.

"We're gonna turn ya around, so you can sit." Beckett's voice floated in and out of his head.

With the aid of the two men compensating for his inability to support himself any longer, Sheppard sank into the chair. His vision blurred and at first he thought he was going to pass out sitting in the damn chair. The oxygen flow increased and he felt the blood pressure cuff tighten around his arm again.

"There ya go, just breathe deeply, lad. Your pressure's picking back up."

Sheppard rested his head back against the wall. "Piece of cake."

Ronon snorted.

Carson placed another blanket over him, this time covering Sheppard's legs, since his gown did little to ward off the cold. "Thanks."

The Scot eyed him. "Any more dizziness?" he asked, checking his pulse.

"No...just wiped."

"Aye, I bet." Carson played with the BP cuff once again and, after checking the readouts, squatted to his level. "You did very well. That was a huge step."

Sheppard nodded, still trying to regain his equilibrium.

"I'm going to let you sit up for a while, enjoy being outta bed. Ronon will stay with you and if you need anything I'm just a call away."

"I'll be fine."

Sheppard missed the discussion that ensued, too lost in trying to piece himself back together. After a long stretch of silence, he opened his eyes to see Ronon staring at him.

"You don't have to stay. I'm not going anywhere," he joked.

"This won't be a long set back," Ronon replied confidently.

Sheppard flexed his right hand and tried to shake off the sting of the laceration on his forearm. "Yeah, I guess I've had worse," he murmured. He looked up to see the strong stoic mask of his friend. "Thanks, for what you did...you know, when you found me."

Ronon's eyes darted to the floor in shame. "I let him escape."

"Yeah? And I let him shish kabob me."

Sheppard could see his teammate straighten to full height, all the burdens of the world balanced on his shoulders. Releasing him of responsibility was the least he could offer. "It was a tough choice, but I'm glad of the one you made...considering the circumstances and all. I'll be on my feet soon enough and you can kick my ass next time we spar."

"It's my job to..." Ronon wrestled over words. "I failed to... I _failed._"

"Not from where I'm standing," Sheppard replied, drawing on his commander's voice.

Ronon offered no reply to that and things fell silent between the two men. Sheppard had McKay's words about mortality bouncing around in his brain and Ronon took a seat at the foot of the bed, apparently lost in his own musings.

Sheppard could feel his energy lag, sitting up not as relaxing as it should've been. He'd been pushed past his limits and had to admit, he wasn't going anywhere for a while.

"You do plan on going on the mission?"

Ronon seemed a man at a crossroads, unwilling to comment on something he was struggling with and Sheppard wasn't going to allow more doubt to fester. "I want you there."

The warrior shook his head. "I should be going after the intruder."

They were calling him the _intruder_, Sheppard thought ruefully. "I need your eyes and ears during the talks."

"That's not my place right now."

"Are you saying that the security of Atlantis isn't your top priority?" Sheppard challenged.

He knew of the runner's tendency to take on the brunt of responsibility for things out of his control. Sheppard did the same thing, but now wasn't the time to debate such issues. "I need your instincts. And don't worry about me, Lorne's team will find that guy."

Ronon relented. "Fine."

Sheppard held onto his small victory; now all he had to do was keep from falling asleep.

"I'm sticking around till the doc returns, this time let's see if you can make back to the bed without being such a pansy."

"Yes, sir," Sheppard replied tiredly, but with a grin.

* * *

The location for their talks with the Genii looked very much like any park on Earth... if she ignored the group of Marines and members of the expedition. They had chosen the greenest patch of grass to wait on and a summery breeze blew through Elizabeth's hair. She brushed an errant strand from her eyes as she took in the serene surroundings. The area was open save or a few large conifers in the distance; nothing that could conceal troops or the workings of a trap.

She studied those around her; most of the team carried on in a professional manner, but a few couldn't hide their nervousness. Rodney was a live wire of restlessness, still sporting a minor limp and talking with animated hands to a visibly relaxed Teyla. The Athosian's calm demeanor was a source of admiration and quite the opposite of the worked up scientist. Rodney had been splitting his energy between his regular duties and spending time in the infirmary. Things had been too hectic the past few days for Elizabeth to find the time to talk to the man about his growing irritability and more problematic mood swings.

People were'nt complaining. Yet.

Ronon walked the perimeter with a few of the Marines, awaiting the gate activation. She was relieved to see him on this mission instead of stalking the halls of Atlantis at all hours of the night. She wrapped her arms around her body, wishing for the presence of his military commander. John's absence was one of the myriad reasons why so many were on edge. She longed for his opinion during these negotiations, not only for his input, but as visible proof of his well being.

The investigation and its lack of results troubled her greatly. There was still the possible threat it posed to John and the unknown overall goal it represented. There were too many balls up in the air and she hoped they wouldn't all come crashing down at once.

Caldwell walked over to her after briefing a few of the Marines. He had taken over John's duties after his attack, but compared to the last time, the circumstances were much different. It was a very temporary position and their interactions were more cordial as a result.

"They should be arriving any minute. We just sent them the coordinates. Ladon replied and he is arriving with five of his men," Caldwell spoke.

"Good. Hopefully, these talks will bear fruit. It would be nice to have one of the few advanced races of this galaxy on our side for a change." She saw his skeptical expression and smiled. "Even if that only means we don't have to fear them as another enemy."

Caldwell arched an eyebrow. "I'll always consider them a threat, but lowering the bar from orange to yellow is a goal."

Teyla's voice interrupted any comments. "They are coming."

The signal rang for an incoming wormhole and a contingent of Marines surrounded the incoming group that emerged. Five Genii soldiers approached, guns lowered, their eyes scanning for threat. Ladon Radim calmly entered last, with a confident stride and a warm smile.

Elizabeth met him halfway, reaching for his outstretched hand. "Good to see you Ladon," she said, using his first name casually to set the tone.

"You as well, Dr. Weir." Radim stood at ease as the rest of the Atlantis group gathered in a loose circle around the leaders.

Elizabeth went on with the formalities "You, of course, know Dr. McKay and Teyla"

Ladon nodded politely to them both.

"This is Ronon Dex."

The runner stared at the Genii, using every intimidation tactic in the book without saying a word. Ladon grinned. "Nice to meet a new member of the Atlantis Team."

Elizabeth pointed to the military man. "And this is Colonel Caldwell."

Ladon looked around. "And where is Colonel Sheppard?"

She had been prepared for that question and she answered in a smooth manner. "Colonel Sheppard isn't unable to attend our talks at this time. Colonel Caldwell is here in his place."

"I'm surprised that he would miss this."

Radim's voice was calm, but his eyes divulged otherwise.

"Really? Why is that?" Rodney huffed suspiciously.

"Because of our past history, Dr. McKay. I thought he would want to be a part of a turning point between our two peoples."

"So, this would be a turning point in which you're not conspiring to kill or kidnap us?" McKay asked bitterly.

"Rodney!" Elizabeth snapped. "We are here trying to put our past behind us."

"Sorry if I'm not a beacon of hope," Rodney snarked.

"It's all right, Dr Weir. I understand any reluctance, but I've come here to try to mend our past. One of the first things on my agenda as the new leader of my people was to try to establish more friendly relations." He looked at the Atlantis inner circle. "Even become allies in our fight against the Wraith."

Elizabeth warned Rodney to back off with a cool glare, looking at Caldwell for a moment before continuing. "This is good news. Our intention from the very start was to build ties. And how are your citizens dealing with the latest political events?"

Ladon chuckled. "As I told you before. Things are very stable and we've focused on progress, which includes my dealings today."

Caldwell stepped forward. "And what are you proposing exactly?"

"That this becomes our first step in beginning real talks. I don't expect things to happen over night, but we both know that together we have a better chance of defeating a common enemy."

Teyla, who had been quiet, spoke for the first time. "That would detail what at first?"

"Trade, if you wanted. I know you may have need of crops. We, of course, would value any medicines and expertise in return."

"So, we just chalk up every past encounter to the previous trigger-happy regime and hope that you don't go back to your old tricks once we let our guard down," Rodney sneered.

Elizabeth was losing patience. "Rodney, this will not get us anywhere."

"He does have a point," Caldwell added.

Elizabeth wasn't naive. She preferred to choose her words carefully and tried to rein in the conversation. "What I think both gentlemen are trying to say is that this sounds promising, but I think we may need some type of good faith gesture on your part."

Ladon seemed perfectly at ease. "I surmised as much, which is the reason why I came bearing information that I think will prove my good intentions."

This had everyone's attention and Elizabeth waited for the next shoe to drop.

Ladon glanced to his left, making eye contact with one of his men. A thin, older gentleman with silver hair didn't seem pleased. The hesitancy had her full attention.

Radim cleared his throat. "It came to my attention earlier this week that several families who lost loved ones during the failed mission to take over Atlantis have conspired to seek revenge."

This was not what she was expecting to hear and it took a minute to let his words sink in. "What are you talking about? Revenge for what?"

"If you recall during the siege of Atlantis, Colonel Sheppard killed many of our men in defense of the city."

Some of the other Genii tensed up and the Marines guarding went on full alert.

"Colonel Sheppard was only doing his job during a hostile event," Teyla defended.

"I understand that, and I am not arguing the point. However, he did kill many soldiers, including over fifty men when he raised the shield as our reinforcements arrived. Many families lost loved ones and have often been very vocal about retaliating against those they hold accountable for the deaths."

"Try yourselves," Rodney growled, looking anxious.

Ronon's hand gripped his blaster, his eyes drilling accusingly at the Genii leader. This was a scenario that Elizabeth had never fathomed and she had to try to disarm a very volatile situation before it spiraled out of control.

"What plan?" she asked.

Ladon ignored Ronon's hostile posturing. "They hired an assassin to kill Colonel Sheppard."

"What?" Elizabeth's heart stuttered, skipping a beat.

"Come again?" Caldwell asked, astonished.

Teyla's eyes widened. She held back Ronon, whose agitated disposition was making the Genii and Marines even more tense.

For all the high emotion, Ladon remained cool. "We are still conducting interrogations to determine how many family members are involved. We have learned that they contracted the skills of the _Rashakash_ Orderand employed a man by the name of Voulsh to carry out the hit."

Ronon broke away from Teyla's restraint, surprising everyone in the group. The Satedan grabbed the lapels of Ladon's jacket, lifting him to his toes. "A member of the _Rashakash_ is after Sheppard and you're just now telling us?" he snarled.

Caldwell and Teyla tried to pull the enraged man away from Radim, who was unable to pry Ronon's fingers away. "It wasn't confirmed until today. We only had suspicions before."

"Ronon, get off of him!" Elizabeth ordered.

"Ronon!" Teyla urged and the runner let go.

Rodney was at a loss of words for once and looked to Elizabeth for guidance, but she was still trying to get Ronon to step away.

Caldwell took charge, his voiced booming with clear authority. "You're admitting that a group of Genii commissioned an assassination attempt on the military leader of Atlantis."

"To them he's a terrorist who murdered many of our people."

"You better give us as much information as possible on this Voulsh guy and the Order of whatever he works for," Caldwell demanded.

"I don't have anything more than that. The _Rashakash_ Order is a secret society and I've only heard rumors of their existence. I don't even know how any of my people could have made contact with one of them."

"You're telling us that some super ninja is out running around Atlantis, trying to kill Sheppard? Are you guys nuts? Assassination plots! This isn't a Tom Clancy novel!" Rodney yelled.

Ladon scrunched his eyebrows. "I came here with this information in hopes of preventing it. If I wasn't earnest in my efforts, I would have kept silent."

"A little too late," Rodney snapped.

Elizabeth and Caldwell could have throttled him and for once McKay appeared regretful for the slip up.

"I see..." Radim said, realization visibly dawning on his face. "I'm sorry to hear it."

"He's alive, no thanks to your _warning_," Ronon hissed.

"I wondered if you ever talked," Laden addressed the pissed runner. "You still have a chance at catching him."

"You don't stop the _Rashakash_.You can only try to kill them," Ronon warned.

Elizabeth looked at him. "I take it you know about this Order?'

Ronon looked at all of their faces. "I know enough that the _Rashakash_will not stop until Sheppard is dead or its assassin no longer breathes."

Suddenly the beginnings of their peace talks with the Genii had grown into a nightmare of epic proportions.


	8. Chapter 8

The meeting with Ladon Radim collapsed into a new and scarier crisis. Bombarding the leader with every question that popped into his head, cemented Rodney's notion that all the Genii were complete morons, Radim failing to offer any helpful information beyond his initial news bomb.

They had all assembled to discuss their options back in Elizabeth's office but Rodney couldn't just sit and listen; he tapped away on his lap top in search of information in the Ancient database on their new foe."Did you double the guards?" he asked Caldwell as the colonel entered the room.

The older man scowled at him. "No one is being allowed in the infirmary except for the personnel who work inside. We've got it covered. Until we capture the suspect, Colonel Sheppard will be very well protected."

Teyla looked up at Caldwell with a questioning expression but he beat her to it. "Everyone in this room is cleared to visit, as well as Major Lorne."

"Any word from him?" Elizabeth interjected.

"He's aware of the situation and has increased the number of units scouring the rest of the city." Caldwell splayed his hands on the table, searching the rest of them with his eyes. "We need more information." He looked at Ronon. "What do you know about this Order? Radim was less than helpful."

Ronon crossed his arms. "I know about the _Rashakash _from tales used to inspire our military."

"Inspire?" Rodney asked, incredulously.

"They're considered the finest trained killers. That's what soldiers _do._" Ronon leaned against the wall, eying the physicist. "They stick to taking out the targeted individual and try to avoid civilian casualties when allowed. Stories say that they often slay their victims in public, or display the body afterwards for all to see."

Rodney's fingers froze, his stomach twisting at the words but quickly returned to his research while Ronon weaved his tale of blood and carnage.

Ronon carried on in a monotone. "They're a sect devoted to political murder; destroying oppressive tyrants or leaders of corrupt regimes. It was a noble cause at first, but then, over the years, their religion changed into a way of life. Killing became a measurement of worth."

"They became hired mercenaries?" Teyla inquired.

"No. Mercenaries kill for money. The _Rashakash _kill for honor,_" _Ronon corrected.

"How well trained?" Teyla asked worriedly.

"They're groomed when they're young; schooled in all manner of killing. Emphasis is on hand to hand combat and knife fighting because killing an opponent close up, by breaking their necks or strangling them is seen as a testament of skill. It means they witness the moment life leaves the body of the victim."

Ronon's tale silenced the group but he went on. "A commander of mine encountered a member of the Order when he was assigned to protect an ally of my people. The _Rashakash _took out the entire royal guard during the encounter. My commander lost an eye and was severely wounded. The rest of his men were killed. He told us later that the assassin's body armor was not affected by their weapons and his blaster was built into his arm- he was able to shoot just by _thinking _about _it_."

"Sounds much like Ancient technology- they were equipped with superior weaponry," Teyla concluded.

"I don't know. I was told they used whatever technology they picked up from the defeated- anything that could be used to improve their ability to kill and hunt. There is an internal rivalry inside the sect, each member possessing technology that the others don't. It all depends on what they salvaged during their missions."

"Like the Borg," Rodney commented, ducking his head back down to his keyboard at Elizabeth's look.

"More than likely he has technology to deflect the life signs detectors." Caldwell grabbed the top of the chair in front of him. "We need to come up with something else to track this guy," he said, staring at Rodney.

"We could modify our scans to look for heat signatures. That might help if thermal readings aren't disrupted," Rodney offered.

"What about motion detectors?" Elizabeth chimed in.

Rodney thought about it. "That _might_ work but they're only good for a very short radius. We don't have enough to place throughout the entire city."

"We'll begin using them at major intersections. What else?" the colonel demanded.

"Have our guys pack extra ordnance." Ronon said, flipping his blaster.

"We may be dealing with a very heavily armed individual," Caldwell said, stating the obvious.

Rodney snapped his fingers, drawing everyone's attention in the process. "He took Sheppard's dog tags." He looked at Ronon. "That mean anything to you?"

"No, they may have been taken as a personal trophy. Taking out the military commander of the City of the Ancients would be a highly prized achievement. It wouldn't be used as proof of death- the _Rashakash_ have more imaginative ideas for displaying their kills."

"I say we try to find out more about this Voulsh and begin another pattern for searching the city." Caldwell moved, grabbing his papers off of the table. "Teyla, I want you to head one of the teams, Ronon---"

"I'll be on my own."

Elizabeth would have none of that. "I don't want anyone tracking this guy alone."

Ronon wouldn't back down. "I work better solo."

"No, you don't," Elizabeth retorted.

"Excuse me, Dr. Weir?"

Chuck entered the room hesitantly, his eyes flicking to each person nervously. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I thought this might be important."

Rodney began packing up his computer, knowing that his lab would be the best place to study anything that might help them. His stomach growled and he realized he hadn't eaten in some time. He gathered up his stuff, missing most of the conversation going on around him.

Then he realized that Chuck had everyone else's rapt attention and he paused to see if it was worth his time to stay and listen.

"We got a message from the Narthions. They found Councilman Dobluis."

"The man whose tip sent us to investigate PMX257?" Elizabeth asked, her voice rising in curiosity.

Chuck nodded. "Councilman Dobluis was found dead in a river far from his town. The Narthions think he died a few days ago and requested our scientific assistance in the investigation."

Rodney looked up at Elizabeth. "Do you think the two are related?"

"That's a bit of a stretch. Would this Order go through that much trouble?" Caldwell asked.

"To the _Rashakash, _killing Sheppard is more than a job. It's a path to honor. Heavy reconnaissance to study our ways is just one facet in a hunt," Ronon stated. "He'd take out anyone to cover up his trail."

The puzzle pieces of the past few days revealed a sinister plan; the assassin was a patient, detail-oriented killer. Brains and brawn was a terrifying combination and the realization of the dual nature of who they were up against made Rodney shudder.

_And you screwed up and helped let him escape._

"Shouldn't someone tell John what is happening? He has the right to know," Teyla said.

Rodney looked around the room, knowing that delivering that type of news would be an unenviable task.

Elizabeth stepped up. "I'll do it."

"I think it would be helpful if we got to the bottom of the Narthion situation," Caldwell commented. "A man was murdered for dealing with this Voulsh guy, someone might have valuable intel."

"It's my responsibility to inform Colonel Sheppard about this. I think hearing the news from me would be a good idea," Elizabeth stated firmly.

"We need a cool head helping with this new lead. The Narthions may have a description of the assassin." Caldwell worked his jaw. "I'll tell him. I am his acting CO."

Elizabeth hesitated. "I---"

"Consider it one less thing to deal with. If we want to catch this asshole and ensure the colonel's safety, we need to act fast."

Rodney made his exit while Elizabeth and Caldwell debated who got to be the most unwelcome message delivery person ever. Maybe he'd stop by to see Sheppard_ before_ he learned about the revenge for hire plot- discovering something like that would put an even bigger damper on the man's day. After he left Elizabeth's office, it occurred to him that being around Sheppard could be hazardous to his health.

Maybe it was time to carry a gun on him at all times. If some hired killer came after the colonel on his watch, then the least he could do was be prepared to defend him.

* * *

Caldwell was bone tired. He'd managed to catch barely more than naps the past few nights and still had another meeting with Lorne after his less than happy side trip to the infirmary. But it was best to come from him, he felt confident. Dr. Weir was occupied with gathering as much information as possible from the Narthions, plus he knew that the expedition leader and Sheppard had become close and it would be more difficult for her to deliver the bad news. 

He saluted the two Marines at the entrance and strolled in, nodding politely to the nurses that walked by, and was about to make his way towards the back of the infirmary when he spotted Rodney chatting with one of Carson's staff.

"Dr. McKay, find anything useful in the database?"

"I do have to eat," Rodney complained.

"This isn't the mess hall the last time I checked."

"Is trying to be a comedian a common trait in the Air Force?"

Caldwell didn't have time for banter. "Why can't you answer a simple question?"

Rodney rolled his eyes and sighed like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar who was ticked off at being caught. "Fine. Sheppard's been a royal pain in the ass lately and I thought if I brought him some of his favorite cobbler, it'd cheer him up."

"And did it?" Caldwell tried not to smirk at the confused expression in front of him. Despite what others thought, he didn't dislike Sheppard and wanted to know the pilot's mood.

"Um... well, I don't know. I sat it on his tray over there a while ago, but one of the nurses wanted to wait until they were done torturing him. Something about a sponge bath. I don't know why he hates them. All he has to do is lay there while some hot nurse..."

"Is he done?" Caldwell asked.

"I think he was a few minutes ago."

Caldwell walked over and grabbed the tray. "I'll tell him about the pie, but I need to speak to him alone."

"It's cobbler and well... I guess... I'll just head over back to my cave," Rodney grumbled.

"You do that."

Caldwell carried the food in search of the non-regulation hair in one of the last semi-private areas. Sheppard didn't notice him enter, too busy as he was trying to lift his injured leg. The pilot was gritting his teeth and grasping the bed rails hard enough that his knuckles turned white.

The colonel cleared his throat. "That some unofficial PT there?"

Sheppard was startled and dropped his leg unexpectedly. The pain made him groan and he wiped at his wet hair, plastering it back from his forehead. "M-maybe...Sorry didn't see you there, sir."

"I think Dr. Beckett might not approve of such dedication."

The Lt. Colonel leaned back against the raised head of the bed. "Just trying to improve my chances of getting out of here." Sheppard's brow furrowed. "You bringin' me lunch?"

Caldwell smirked. "Thought I'd make myself useful. You have Dr. McKay to thank for bribing one of the mess hall workers for the cobbler."

Sheppard shifted uncomfortably, knowing what the scientist probably went through to get it. Caldwell placed the tray on the little table and swung it over the bed for the man to reach.

The pilot didn't even hesitate, digging the fork into the apple dessert first and taking a bite. "Hope you don't mind," Sheppard said sheepishly.

"No, not at all, but didn't your mother ever teach you about eating your veggies first?"

Sheppard's eyes cast downwards, the words hitting a nerve. "Yeah, something like that."

The pilot's face grew serious and he looked up suspiciously. After swallowing, he pushed the tray away. "Is there something else, sir? I mean...you've got your hands full. Did something go wrong with the mission that Elizabeth didn't mention when I spoke to her?"

"When did you two talk?"

"Just a little while ago. She was going to a meeting and said she'd debrief me in time for lunch." Sheppard straightened as much as he could, his jaw tightening the only indication that it hurt a lot to do so. "It's lunch now," he added.

Caldwell wasn't much for stalling tactics; shooting straight from the hip was always the best course of action in his book. "Ladon Radim informed us that the families of the men you killed during the attempt to take over Atlantis hired an assassin to kill you. We believe he is the person who attacked you. We also suspect that this person is still at large and means to try again."

"Do you believe him?"

"Yes, I do. Ladon seemed very sincere and it makes sense, given how the guy was able to get to Atlantis undetected. And why you were targeted."

Sheppard fiddled with his nasal cannula, staring at some far off spot in the distance. "I try not to think about that day too much."

"You acted accordingly, defending the city under extreme conditions. You were outmanned and outgunned. I don't think very many individuals could have pulled off what you accomplished."

"Just did what I had to do."

Caldwell didn't give out praise very often; soldiers didn't need big egos. But he didn't understand Sheppard's reluctance to accept it when offered. "And I'm sure your team appreciates it. I guess your background in covert operations saved a lot of lives."

"I just flew special ops missions." Sheppard finally looked up at him. "Shoulda stuck to being a test pilot my whole career."

"Then you wouldn't be a leader here, Colonel."

Sheppard grimaced. "Yeah, I don't think some of my tours would have proved as interesting."

"I just wanted you to be aware of the situation. We have all our resources searching for this guy and I know you'll want to be kept in the loop so I'll have the latest report sent over for you to read."

"I don't want this draining our manpower," Sheppard said, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw as sweat dotted his brow.

"This is a great security risk, Colonel. We will do whatever it takes to eliminate the threat."

"We... shouldn't... be distracted while dealing with the Genii," Sheppard said as he leaned his head back, the lines of his face tightening.

"Are you all right?" Caldwell asked concernedly.

The pilot's left hand curled into a fist and dug into his chest. "Just..." He dragged heavily on his oxygen. "Tell... Carson's staff... to... be alert. Don't want 'em... in danger..." Sheppard's face was becoming an alarming shade of red.

"Colonel?" Caldwell went to the ill man's side. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Can't...can't..." Sheppard gasped, setting off two monitor alarms. One computer screen's numbers began to plummet, while the other skyrocketed.

Caldwell hollered over the blaring noise. "Nurse! Dr. Beckett!"

Sheppard's body pulled tight as a bowstring as it arched off the bed. His head flung back and the veins and muscles around his throat bulged out. The pilot struggled for air, wheezing sounds like sucking off a straw filling the air. Both pupils constricted to mere pinpricks and Sheppard's arm muscles contracted, his fingers clawing at his breastbone.

Caldwell tried to hold the man still, fearful he would injure himself. The taut muscles underneath his palms were spasming into knots. "Colonel!"

He watched in horror as a thin line of saliva dripped down the corner of Sheppard's mouth.

Beckett's voice pierced the air. "What's going on?"

Caldwell got out of the way before the doctor threw him to the side. "I have no idea; he just began having trouble breathing!"

Janet and Carol surrounded the bed and tried to prevent their patient from pulling out the various tubes he was connected to. Carol looked at Beckett in shock. "God... he feels like he's in rigor."

"Pulse ox is at 89 and falling!" Janet shouted. "BP 70/40, pulse is racing at 120!"

"Carol, get me the oxygen," Beckett instructed as he turned to Caldwell. "Did you see anything? Anything at all? Did he have any other symptoms?"

"No. We were talking and he seemed to experience a little pain. Then he began to struggle."

"Was it rapid onset?"

"Out of the blue."

"Damn, there's no reason for this," the physician muttered.

The younger nurse placed a mask over Sheppard's nose and mouth, as he gasped fitfully. The poor bastard was still awake, his hazel eyes rolling to the top of his skull.

Caldwell backtracked the last ten minutes in hopes of linking a cause to the crisis. "He ate a piece of that cobbler just a few minutes ago."

Beckett stared blankly at him, obviously confused by the statement. "What?"

"It could've been poisoned. What else could cause this?" Caldwell hollered over the shrieking alarms.

"Food allergy or a bad reaction to---"

"The meals this week were from my ship, nothing was native. I don't think he's allergic to apples and considering someone's trying to kill him, it'd be my number one bet!" Caldwell argued.

"Pulse ox is dropping to 86," Carol warned.

Caldwell tapped his earpiece. "I want a security team to the infirmary and Dr. McKay to report here immediately!" He pulled out his gun and stood right outside the curtain, eyes scanning the area for danger as Dr. Cole charged over.

"Bloody hell, we could be dealing with anything then!" Beckett exclaimed.

Two Marines charged over, awaiting instructions.

"Stand here. Stay alert for anything unusual. I think our target might be using a personal cloak and I don't want him to try to finish the job," Caldwell ordered.

The Marines answered in unison."Yes, sir!"

Caldwell turned to face the unfolding drama, his ears telling him things were going downhill fast.

"I'll get a vent," Dr. Cole announced after assessing the situation.

Beckett evaluated all the readouts and physically began to assess his patient. He took Sheppard's pulse and palpated his straining throat. Then he did the same to the pilot's stiffened shoulders and arms and pulled the sheet down to press his palm over his chest and stomach. "All his muscles are tight as ropes."

Dr. Cole hurried over with the ventilator and began prepping to insert a tube down Sheppard's throat.

Beckett bent over Sheppard. "John, I know you're havin' a tough time of it. Just try to stay calm. I think I know what's goin' on. If you can't feel your muscles, try to blink for me, lad."

"What are you doing?"

Beckett glared at his fellow physician. "I have a gut feelin'. I think he's suffering from acute paralysis and it's spreading. His lungs are seizing and he's losing all other motor control function."

Caldwell stood closer; Sheppard's eyes were glued to Beckett's.

"Please, if you can, lad, just---"

Sheppard's eyelids shut, then struggled until they re-opened.

"Aye, lad, that was great of ya." Beckett squeezed John's shoulder. "Okay, intubate him, but use a pediatric tube and bag him. You're not goin' to fit a normal-sized endotracheal down those cords."

Dr. Cole ran to his cart and began searching for another instrument. Beckett walked over to him and spoke quietly. "I'm goin' to give him atropine."

"That's risky when we don't know what we're dealing with."

"Aye, but I'm not goin' to stand around and do nothing. This is neurological in nature, I'm certain of it." Beckett ran over towards his patient. "I'm goin' to make you feel better, John. I know this is scary, but trust me."

Carol wiped away more of the foam from Sheppard's mouth. Caldwell felt like a morbid spectator and turned around, giving some dignity to the Lt. Colonel but continuing to listen to Beckett as the physician explained to his conscious patient about the intubation procedure.

Being paralyzed and completely aware of your body shutting down had to be terrifying for anyone. Caldwell considered offering a word of encouragement before he heard McKay's irate voice argue with the Marines holding him back.

"Let me pass you jarheads. Didn't you hear your boss call me? What the hell's going on? Where's Sheppard!"

Finally something to distract him, Caldwell thought. He hurried over to Rodney before the physicist gave himself a stroke.

"Dr. McKay--"

"Tell these baboons to let me pass!" Rodney yelled as the guards stood as an impenetrable wall.

The two Marines allowed Caldwell by, then closed ranks behind him.

"Tell me exactly what you did, step by step, after you got that cobbler for Colonel Sheppard."

"Why? What's---"

"Just answer the question. It's important."

Rodney rose to his tiptoes, still trying to catch a glimpse into the privacy area. "I bribed Mandy into making a fresh bowl of it. She's got a thing for Sheppard. I grabbed it after lunch and came here. Now--"

"She only made one dish? None for you?"

"She didn't have enough, okay?."

Caldwell could see McKay's vein beat on the side of his forehead, but he needed this information before he told the other man what was going on. "You didn't stop anywhere else on your way here?"

"Mess hall, then here. Now your turn!"

This wasn't helping. "You put it on his tray? How did you know which one was his lunch?"

"Beckett told me. Anything else? Do you want to know when I went to the bathroom, too?"

"Colonel Sheppard took one bite of that cobbler and after a few minutes he went into respiratory distress. Now, I'm not positive, but I'm guessing that it was poisoned. I'm going to radio Zelenka to come over and take it for analysis to verify one way or another."

McKay nearly folded in on himself. "Is he..."

"They're working on him. He was awake, but unable to move. Beckett's there now." Caldwell let the news sink in for a moment. "Is it possible that the assassin could be wearing a personal cloak?"

"Maybe. I mean it's possible, depending on the energy needed and a power source. A cloaking shield could be used on that body armor. It could explain how the guy has been able to slip past everyone and avoid detection. A shield like that might deflect our sensors and life sign readings."

Caldwell radioed Zelenka and stood by until there was something he could actually do.

He preferred if someone else tested the dessert, knowing how stressed out Rodney was acting, and to his credit, McKay didn't even complain about letting the Czech do the job.

McKay began wearing away more tile, walking in a circular pattern.

"I'm sure things will be fine," Caldwell offered as a weak piece of reassurance.

After the longest ten minutes of his career, Dr. Beckett came out wearily, the Marines letting him by.

McKay almost tackled the poor man. "Well?"

Beckett held out a hand. "Take it easy. It seems the hunch I had was right. I gave him a dose of atropine and it's doing the trick. Quite rapidly may I add."

"Then he's going to be fine?" Caldwell asked.

"Aye, the effect on his lungs was immediate and he's already fighting the vent, the bugger."

"Thank God. I swear he does this to me on purpose. It's to get back at me for kicking his ass at chess." Rodney looked at the two men who gawked at him. "Alright, so I only win half the time."

Caldwell rubbed his hand over his bald head, trying to decide if the day could get any worse, when Ronon's voice boomed in the room. "Zelenka needs to be let in."

"Let them both through!" Caldwell ordered.

Ronon didn't waste any time. "I heard on the radio that there was a security breach."

"We're still trying to determine that, but it's a possibility," Caldwell explained, not really in the mood to argue with the runner.

"What _did_ happen?" Ronon growled.

Where did he begin?

* * *

Caldwell was back at Sheppard's bed, this time with Teyla, Ronon and McKay. The colonel was sleeping off the effects of his ordeal, but the ventilator wasn't necessary anymore and that was the best news yet. 

Beckett walked in, nodding to those standing and sitting. "I updated Elizabeth and she'll be returning in a few hours from the Narthion world."

"You get Zelenka's test results?" Rodney asked.

"Aye, they were inconclusive. He couldn't identify the neurotoxin, but he did verify that the cobbler was poisoned. The colonel is lucky he only took a bite. If he had ingested any more, it would have killed him instantly. The toxin was very potent and fast acting but appears to be metabolizing very quickly- it's almost cleared his system."

"Voulsh did manage to sneak in here," Teyla said, smoothing out the blanket that covered Sheppard.

"Seems the guards are useless," Rodney grouched.

"How did he know?" Teyla seemed mesmerized by the quiet hum of the machines, but soon swept her gaze to the others. "Why the cobbler? Why not the broth or the juice?"

"Because he's been watching us the entire time we came back from the mission." Ronon didn't move from his place near the curtain. "He was in the cafeteria that day. Sheppard felt it. So did I."

Rodney groaned in self-hatred. "We argued over the damn stuff."

Caldwell looked at him. "You fought over _cobbler_?"

"Yeah. I knew it was his favorite and I gloated over it until he made me feel sorry for him."

"Did not." Sheppard's low raspy voice startled them all.

Beckett hurried over. "Feeling better?"

Sheppard sighed. "Stop...stuffin' sandpaper... down my throat," he complained in a harsh whisper.

Beckett handed over a cup of water with a straw. "You know the drill."

"It's not safe here. This place is too wide open and not secure enough with so may people able to come and go." Ronon peered out through the privacy divide. "Sheppard could be picked off easily; our guy won't take any more chances. He'll get more aggressive."

"Just... give me my gun. I'll take care of the SOB." Sheppard pushed the water away. "Not going to just lay here... with some target on my head."

"We need to move him. Somewhere more private, with one door in and out."

"Where do you suggest, Ronon?" Caldwell asked.

Rodney spoke out to the shock of everyone else. "He could stay with me. We could post guards outside my door, give them motion detectors. They'd be able to spot movement. I don't think a cloak can trick those."

Sheppard shoved away Beckett's hands as the doctor tried to keep him still, but the colonel sat up straighter anyway. "_He's _right here and I don't need a babysitter."

"You'll need to shoot anything that moves," Ronon warned.

Rodney stood taller, the 9 mil that hung on his hip strange looking with the rest of his civilian clothes. "I will."

"You can't be there all the time. I could help take shifts, be with John when you need to rest or work," Teyla suggested, everyone in the room recognizing it wasn't a request.

Sheppard's brittle voice did little to gain attention. "Excuse me."

Even Beckett had to add his two cents. "I don't think that's wise. Put a whole unit of Marines here, but the colonel still needs constant monitoring."

"A nurse could stay when needed and I think Rodney and I are capable of getting help if something were to go wrong. We could make sure he gets all his medications. John is stable now," Teyla added as she continued to fuss with the blankets.

"_John_ is tired of being ignored!"

"I'm not giving him those sadistic shots in the stomach," Rodney grumbled.

"Ronon, just go find me my gun." Sheppard looked at the others angrily when the Satedan made no attempt to move. "Fine, then I'll get it."

The colonel pulled back the covers in a flurry of motion, but his arms and hands began shaking as soon as he reached for the railing. By the time he sat fully upright in bed, his breathing came in and out in raspy intakes.

"Enough of that!" Beckett admonished. "Just a few hours ago, your body went through a massive ordeal. The poison is out of your system, but you're still very weak even if you won't admit it. Now lay back or I'll tie you down since I can't risk sedation."

Sheppard dragged heavily on his O2, his fiery eyes drilling daggers at his team. "This... is... MY life we're talkin' about."

Caldwell addressed the pilot. "Yes, Colonel, it is and whether you like it or not, we're going to protect it. I'm making that an order." He turned to the others. "Do what it takes and let me know when you need a security escort to McKay's quarters after it's inspected."

"I'll go and meet you there,." Ronon said, hurrying out of the room..

Teyla spoke to the rest. "I'll return to the search and relieve Rodney at 0800 hours."

Caldwell nodded and tapped his com to arrange a meeting with Lorne about the newest development. He watched out of the corner of his eye as McKay approached the pilot.

"It won't be half bad. At least you'll be out of here, right?"

Sheppard didn't respond, the waves of anger and humiliation off the Richter scale. If he wasn't talking it meant less to argue about and that suited Caldwell just fine. He didn't envy the colonel being locked away with McKay for that long of a duration. For all of their sakes, he hoped that they got lucky before the assassin decided it didn't matter how many he killed to get at his target.

* * *

_A/N_

_Thank you all for the all the kind words, since this is my first long SAG fic, I just wanted everyone to know how much the support has helped._


	9. Chapter 9

There were many things John Sheppard hated and the inability to make his own choices or have a say in his destiny were high up on the list. He appreciated his team's loyalty and their friendship, but it was hard to swallow when other people made decisions for him.

Even when his freedom had been threatened by a court martial, he'd been willing to accept the consequences of his actions. He had disobeyed direct orders and they had dumped him off in one of the most remote parts of the world. But he still relished what they hadn't been able to take away; being allowed to soar the empty skies over arctic wastelands.

Flying was his escape, the ultimate act of autonomy. Being wheeled down the halls of Atlantis; tethered to a gurney and surrounded by Marines and his friends in order to lock him away for his own protection...

Not so much.

"Do I have any say in this at all?" he grumbled.

"No," Ronon said in a tone that wasn't to be questioned.

The Satedan took up the rear of the gurney while Rodney led the procession, his eyes glued to a motion detector as they headed towards his quarters.

Lorne exited McKay's quarters. "Everything's clear."

"Good," the runner answered.

Ronon helped situate the bed next to the east wall in a position that would still allow enough room to walk around in the cramped quarters.

"If I'm being hauled off and imprisoned then why can't it be in my own room?" Sheppard asked, trying to muster up some power in his weakened voice.

"Stop your moaning. This is a pretty big inconvenience as it is." McKay spun around after picking up a box that had opened, dumping files onto the floor. "May I remind you that the invisible assassin knows where you sleep?"

"And you don't think he knows where you do?" Sheppard challenged.

The scientist paused as the words sank in. "Maybe, but at least my room doesn't smell like bleach."

"My quarters do not smell like bleach."

"Blood, Colonel. Your floors were covered in it. What do you think was going to clean it up?" McKay shot back, still tidying up after the Marines' inspection.

Sheppard settled his head back against his pillow without an argument. He really did loathe feeling like this.

Rodney pointed a finger at Lorne after fussing with something on his desk. "Could your Neanderthals try to be messier next time?"

"We swept the place for potential threats. Or would you prefer to stay in an unsecured location?" the major responded as he walked over to Ronon. "I'm going to grab some late chow and then resume our work at 2100 hours. Colonel Caldwell wants us to begin using a new search protocol that might flush out our target. "

"I'll be there," Ronon answered.

Lorne came near the bed railing. "We're going to catch this Voulsh, sir. He's not going to get a next time."

Sheppard despised what this situation was doing to his people. "I want you to be careful out there. Don't take any chances, that's an order."

"Yes, sir."

Rodney scoured his work area in annoyance. "I left my lap top behind. I need to grab it."

"I don't need a babysitter, McKay."

"Carson's going to drop in as soon as he's done with some minor surgery. One of his nurses is coming by after you're settled in to check on all your stuff," Rodney explained, eying the numerous tubes and oxygen with trepidation.

If he hadn't felt uncomfortable before, reminders of his "stuff" sure as hell did it for him, but at least Carson had promised he could get rid of some of it the next day if he "continued to improve". He tried to relax, but his leg had grown more vocal with every movement and the poisoning had led to even more needle sticks, above and beyond the daily blood donations he was already making.

Focused as he was on laying still and fighting futilely to get comfortable, he failed to notice that Rodney had left. His only clue was how the room had grown quiet but for the sound of Ronon's steady breathing.

"I grabbed this for you."

Sheppard looked over and propped himself on his elbow to snatch his Berretta from the Satedan's hand. "About time," he sniped, checking the clip and flicking the safety on.

"You should be armed, but I'm right. You're better off here." Ronon stood there, daring him to argue.

Sheppard stuck the gun under the mattress within easy reach, glaring at Ronon to express his unhappiness, even if it didn't affect the big guy. "I'm not going to act like a sitting duck for the big bad wolf to find me."

"I don't know what birds and children's tales have to do with anything. I _do_ know what it's like to be hunted down and powerless to stop it."

Sheppard didn't share heavy emotions and he knew Ronon wasn't usually a wealth spring of such openness either. He felt shame that he'd even begun to compare his current situation with Ronon's seven years as a moving target and puppet to an unrelenting master. Sheppard didn't know if he could have done that; could have endured that type of servitude for only the slimmest chance at revenge.

Ronon didn't look at him directly, lost in scarred memories. "You feel worthless. Powerless. So angry at your own inability to change anything. And if someone comes along and offers to help, you push them away for their own good."

"You gave me another alternative. I was given a chance at redemption. But more than that... I gained something much more than I expected." Ronon leaned closer. "You will heal, Sheppard. I won't let you die at the hands of a coward that hides in shadows."

"And I can't stand by and watch others go into harm's way for me."

Ronon stared at him hard. "This would be the part where you'd tell me to accept my weakness."

Sheppard grinned. "Then you'd tell me to buzz off."

The two stubborn men could probably have argued the point all day but Sheppard felt the overwhelming need for his body to recuperate dragging his eyes closed. Ronon smiled and declined the next jab, folding his body into the chair and putting up his feet at the end of the bed. Sheppard grinned at the concession and made his own by nodding off five minutes later.

* * *

Elizabeth's responsibilities as expedition leader were numerous and stressful but she thrived on the daily challenges thrown her way. Her people skills gave her strength and she had honed her ability to broach sensitive subjects and mediate conflict. She was good at it, and she generally enjoyed the hell out of it.

But she also knew there would be days when she really despised her job. All her skills- her calm, rational logic and tightly reined emotions- flew right out the window. And she sat, literally pounding on the keyboard of her laptop, as she filed the report of her visit with the Narthions.

Caldwell entered her office. "I'm sorry I'm late."

She slammed her hands on the desk so hard the vibrations shook her cup of coffee. It was an uncharacteristic display of hostility, but his presence made him a target for her fear and anger; the colonel would just have to endure the brunt of it.

"What have been doing to improve security?" she snapped.

Caldwell matched her intense glare. "The Marines guarding Colonel Sheppard are equipped with motion detectors. Dr. McKay is reasonably certain that whatever cloaking technology is being used, it can't conceal movement."

Elizabeth knew she was projecting but she found what had happened to John while she was away inexcusable. "Are you sure? Security was breached at the infirmary without a problem."

"Look, I'm just as disturbed about what happened as you are." He held up his hand to hold off her retort. "I was there and the suspect was probably right under my freakin' nose the entire time."

"I left to go help the investigation on your urging, only to find out Sheppard was poisoned hours after I was gone."

Caldwell exhaled loudly. "If you want to blame someone then blame me. I'll accept it."

Elizabeth ignored the little part of her that wanted to take him up on that offer. "No, there's only one person to heap that on. What I want to know is, what are we doing about it now?"

"We're taking no chances. The infirmary wasn't secured enough and we can't very well shut it down. Only Dr. Beckett and two of his staff are approved to enter where Sheppard is recovering and every ounce of liquid, food, and medication is checked and scanned. "

Elizabeth nodded. "Good. And the search?"

"Major Lorne and I put together a method for tracking the suspect. We have four teams searching every section systematically which should hopefully force the guy out in one way or another. You next. What did you find out with the Narthions and Councilman Dobluis?"

Now it was her turn to feel inadequate. "I took Dr. Cole with me to perform a brief autopsy with the Narthions' permission. The councilman's throat was slit."

"Murdered?"

She nodded. "Exsanguination, but as the body had been pulled from the river there was no other evidence found- it was too badly deteriorated. Dr. Cole estimates he had been killed about five days ago."

"That puts our time line at the councilman's death, followed by the ambush and the attempt on the colonel's life the day after. Were there records of these meetings?" Caldwell pressed.

Elizabeth rubbed at her eyes. "None. Also, there's no indication that any member of the Genii visited the Narthions. Right now, the only connection we have lies with Ladon Radim." She allowed a moment for her words to sink in and hoped Caldwell caught on to all that she was saying.

"There something else you want to discuss?"

"While I waited for you, Ladon sent out another message. He would like to continue diplomatic discussions. He's even willing to share the results of his own investigation into the assassination plot."

"How forthcoming," Caldwell muttered. "And when and where would he like to meet?"

Elizabeth didn't bat an eyelash. "In a few days. Here in Atlantis."

"What's the rush?"

"Time can mend old wounds or make them worse. With knowledge that a few of his people are involved in treachery against us, he wants to show support. He desires the opportunity to build a relationship by letting us know that his leadership is worth our trust."

"And you think it is?" Caldwell asked skeptically.

"No, I don't. That's the point of rebuilding ties. It's the key to diplomacy and I know as a military man you don't see it the same way, but I do."

"I'm not keen on the idea of beginning a new road map with the Genii during our current crisis."

Elizabeth was torn about the situation; an alliance with one of the more powerful peoples in the Pegasus Galaxy was a keystone in the plan to defeat the Wraith.

"If we are to prove to others that we are up to the task of defeating the Wraith and we are more thanoccupiers of the city of the Ancients, then we should hold the meeting- _especially _during this current situation. It only demonstrates to other potential allies that we are capable of dealing with conflict on several fronts."

"And you want to take that chance?"

"Yes, I do. I'm sure Ladon thinks we'll decline. It will only show our resolve and gravitas."

Caldwell snorted. "Is that your diplomatic word for balls, Dr. Weir?"

Elizabeth smiled. "What do you think?"

"What I think will probably not persuade you one way or another."

Elizabeth picked up her PDA with a response typed up and ready for transmission. "Good. Let's demonstrate to the Genii what we're truly made of."

She wasn't about to sit back and twiddle her thumbs. Her worry for John was great, but she'd find a way to channel all that anxiety and help Atlantis in her future battles.

* * *

He heard the bodies hit the shield, one after another, the screams silenced as flesh collided with the unstoppable force. He searched the darkness until his ears filled with familiar voices. He swung his P90 around, only to witness Rodney's skull get blown apart, his blood splattering Elizabeth's uniform. The faceless Genii pointed the gun at her next and before he could react, the soldier pulled the trigger.

"No!"

Sheppard bolted awake, thrashing his leg in the process. Blinding hot pain ripped through him causing moisture to well up in the corners of his eyes. He curled up on his right side and attempted to draw his legs up to his chest but that only intensified the spasms. He buried his face in the pillow, letting out a muffled scream, but his pain was unmerciful. He didn't realize he was shaking until a set of hands tried to hold him still.

"Whoa... Jesus. Take it easy."

He bit down on his lip, breathing rapidly through his nose. The raw anguish mapped out every nerve bundle in his leg in Technicolor.

Rodney's panicky voice penetrated the white noise in his head. "Talk to me, Colonel. God, why did I volunteer for this? Can you breathe all right?"

Sheppard tried to rein in the torment, unable to budge from his fetal position and incapable of communication yet.

"How do you work this damn machine? Oh, yeah, here's the switch. You'd better not be dying on me."

The increased flow of oxygen offered some comfort and, after waiting for the fire to fade away, Sheppard concentrated on breathing. Just in and out until his hands uncurled from the fists they'd formed and he rolled his head over revealing one side of his face. He opened his eyes to the distressed blue ones leaning over him.

"Hey," he said, his voice ragged and broken.

Rodney's features slackened in relief, then wrinkled in anger. "Don't do that to me again! You almost gave me a heart attack."

"S'rry," Sheppard slurred.

"Well, your nightmares are going to give me some now." Rodney ran a hand through his frazzled hair. "You okay?"

"Yeah...no." Sheppard clenched his teeth. The pain had never been this bad before and it wasn't dissipating.

Rodney walked away and returned from his bathroom with a damp washcloth. "You're sweating like a stuck pig."

He hesitated, the damp rag clutched between his fingers until Sheppard yanked it away in embarrassment with a muffled 'thanks'. The injured man's hand trembled with the effort of wiping his face and he tried to hide it, agitated that he was so pathetically debilitated.

"You're not on any of your happy juice. I don't know if you remember or not. Carson wanted to make sure your lungs remembered how to do their job."

"Oh."

"You were asleep when that nurse... um...what's her name? I don't know but she did her stuff, changing all your... er... things and fiddled with the monitors. She warned me you'd be grouchy when you woke up until Carson came over and deemed you fit to go back to La La Land."

Sheppard wanted to get out of his semi-fetal position without igniting the inferno in his leg. Ripping a band aid off fast always did the trick so he grit his teeth, rolled onto his back, and straightened out his legs. He couldn't hold back a groan and had to pant for breath.

"Are you a masochist? I would have helped, you know. Now you match the color of the sheets, hope you're happy," Rodney muttered. "Idiot."

"I—I heard that."

"Good," Rodney said, stalking away towards his desk.

Sheppard reached out and ran a reassuring hand across the handle of his gun, drawing reassurance from its presence as Rodney tapped a mile a minute on his keyboard. He was clear-headed for the first time since his encounter with _Ugly _and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying to ignore the clacking in the background.

The pulse in his leg beat in time to his heart and he was unable to ignore the spike being driven into his flesh while his mind tried to fast forward past images and fears that haunted him.

"I want the report." _There you go, John. Nice firm, commanding voice._

"What are you carrying on about now? I'm busy."

Sheppard felt his patience splinter. "I want to know everything about the investigation."

"Wouldn't you prefer more light reading? Maybe a Playboy or something. I hear the articles are very interesting."

"Just give me the damn thing," Sheppard growled as he raised the bed higher. He gnawed at his bottom lip again when the movement whipped up the flames and burning sensations.

"Why?"

"Because I'm trapped in this bed and I don't have anything else to do."

Rodney didn't even look up from his computer. "You can borrow my Tetris game. I think your brain is a little too mushed for any real words. Little dancing cubes of color might be more your speed."

"McKay..."

Rodney stood abruptly, hands gesturing wildly when the door opened up suddenly. The physicist's hand went to the gun on his hip and he spun around ready to face the threat.

Sheppard whipped out his Berretta, thumbing off the safety.

"Sorry I'm late. My simple procedure got more complicated," Carson's voice filtered in.

Sheppard released a breath and stashed the weapon back under the mattress just as Rodney wavered on his feet before quickly recovering. It was the first time Sheppard had noticed that his friend carried a side arm now and realized exactly how screwed up this whole thing had become.

Carson rolled another piece of equipment into the room and brought it over to Sheppard's bed. He parked the device next to the IV pole and took a minute to study the monitors, tutting to himself.

"I hope you brought him some narcotics because he's being a royal pain in the ass," Rodney declared, walking over to inspect the new machine.

Carson checked a chart clipped to the bed and flipped through the pages before taking out his stethoscope. "Let me take a listen, lad."

The physician undid the strings to the top of Sheppard's gown and warmed up the end before he placed the metal object to his chest. "Just breathe in and out for me."

Sheppard did what he was told, any respiratory difficulty from his bout with the killer cobbler nearly gone, except for some soreness when he took deeper breaths.

Carson wrapped the instrument around his neck, eying him. "Your pressure is a bit high and your pulse is faster than I'd like. The pain been pretty bad?"

"What do you think, Carson? Deal with many deep gouges in your leg without any pharmaceutical relief?" Rodney snapped.

The Scot sighed, addressing his patient instead of the agitated roommate. "I'm sorry, lad, for that. I came by to administer a dose now that the toxin is completely outa of your system. I just didn't want to take any chances but your newest blood tests came back clean."

"Its okay, doc."

"I'm goin' to hook you up to a PCA machine. I'll deliver your dosage tonight, then you can manage your own pain by pressing the button on this device." Carson attached the machine and added another line to his current IV. "Now, I'm trusting you to use this, Colonel. No bucking up and all that rubbish. My staff will take turns keepin' an eye on ya, but this whole bloody seclusion thing means you won't be as closely monitored as I'd like."

The doctor turned to Rodney. "I'm putting you and Teyla in charge of making sure he stays medicated." He faced his patient. "You're goin' to hurt, so use the bloody thing."

Sheppard knew his threshold for pain had reached its limits a while ago. "Could we begin now?"

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry."

Carson grabbed the device and almost released the lever, but hesitantly scrutinized the pump.

"What are you doing? Waiting until he gnaws through his bottom lip?" Rodney barked.

Carson fiddled with the button. "I know we inspected it before entering the room to make sure it wasn't tampered with. It's ---"

"Just do it, Carson. We can't let this guy win," Sheppard said, gritting his teeth.

Carson mumbled an apology and sent a flush of warmness through his veins. It only took a moment before the tension in his back and in about every muscle in his body loosened from the blissful injection.

"I'm going to get you on your feet tomorrow, son. I think I'll spare you that for tonight, since you've had such a rough time of it."

"Just plan on some nightly...reading," Sheppard said quietly.

"I don't think you can focus on anything right now," Rodney scoffed.

Sheppard forced his heavy eyelids to stay open. "Try me."

"Maybe you should hit the button again," Rodney grumbled to the physician.

"There's an additional small dosage for an emergency in-between intervals." Carson lingered longer, using every excuse to stick around.

Sheppard adjusted the bed so he could sit up at a better angle. His limb was nice and numb and a pleasant hazy feeling began creeping over the rest of his body. "I'm fine, Carson. I have one babysitter already."

He missed the soft exchange between both docs while thoughts slushed around in his mind and his eyelids grew heavy. "Th-the report," he demanded, slurring his words.

A PDA was slapped into his hands. "Here. I'm not reading you a bed time story. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gong to try to grab an hour or two before Teyla comes for her shift. If you don't mind being a good little patient and going to bed."

Sheppard tried to focus on the tiny print of the screen before him. The text blurred into senseless lines of nonsense no matter how hard he concentrated. He buried the piece of equipment under his pillow in frustration, knowing he could examine it in the morning as long as no one tried to kill him in his sleep.

He patted down the side of the bed, tingly fingers clumsily searching out his weapon. After a few tries, he got his hand to obey his command and pulled the Berretta out and tucked it under his pillow.

* * *

The steel vibrated above his head as five pairs boots marched over the platform. Voulsh rested his head against a metal beam that help support the elevated walkway above and peered down into the depths below. His body didn't twitch as the soldiers passed, despite his aching side. The wound had grown pinkish around the stitching and the extra salve only kept the infection at a standstill.

During his first day in the city he observed the structure above as an out of the way place for some of the soldiers to run laps in the outskirts of the city. The underbelly was another tight fit, but it gave him enough breathing room to reflect upon his actions.

He had never failed before. It burned a hole in his soul, the shame of defeat overpowering. He clutched Sheppard's metal identification, imagining the scowl of his Master's face and he pledged to make amends to his memory. If he made it back to his world, he would heat up the jewelry and burn the name and rank into his flesh as a reminder of his mistakes.

He would offer to cut off his left hand as a token of his remorse for his latest method...

Poison.

A child could poison people. It was a tool of thieves, scum, pirates, and betrayed lovers. It required nothing! He'd even been denied the beauty of watching the outcome, of the resulting death.

The place of their medicine had been too busy and occupied by others. Every attempt to get close to his target was thwarted by Sheppard's caregivers. The women helpers tended to him regularly, the healer shadowed often and his friends were constantly around. The target was never alone enough to be finished off with a quick slice to the throat. Even then, the risk of discovery from the many machines that monitored the life of Sheppard's body would give him away.

The presence of his target's favorite food had been an opportunity that he couldn't have dismissed, no matter how much it caused him anguish to stoop so low.

Another set of boots clanked above him; the 'Lantean numbers had increased and their patterns were more focused. Were they seeking vengeance?

He needed to see the dead body for himself. Voulsh flexed his fingers, knowing that a mechanical replacement would not be the same, but he'd gladly pay the price to absolve him for using the nerve agent.

He carried around the powder as a last resort and only used the method once; many years ago to kill a spice trader. The tyrant had surrounded himself with the offspring of his many wives. The children slept in the same bed as the target, played with him during free time and were used as shields out in the open. Tainting his alcohol had only been approved when faced with the prospect of killing young ones.

The overhead walkway was silent again and still he waited... just in case the runner was near by. He had caught the Satedan on his trail a few times, and avoided many close calls. The line between predator and prey was blurring as more time went by.

He tested one of the metal beams that ran all the way under the catwalk and used every outcropping and foothold as he maneuvered under the metal structure to avoid being spotted above it. Voulsh backtracked before re-entering the city where more guards patrolled with their hand held machines. It was time to tap into their computers and find out the news of Sheppard's death and learn if his mission had been completed.


	10. Chapter 10

Teyla adjusted the grip on the box, her shoulders and arms still very stiff from the other day's sparring with Ronon. Her friend practically lived within the abandoned sectors of the city, only leaving to eat, run and visit the colonel. Yesterday, Ronon had nearly ripped an arm off of a Marine who had bumped into him in the mess hall; she had insisted they work out in order for him to release his tension and anger. The exercise session that followed was rough and filled with fury as neither of them held back as they normally would.

This was the first time Teyla felt her center focused and unburdened. She had spent over ten hours a day in the darkened maze of Atlantis with a team of nervous servicemen. The Marines were professionals; loyal and determined to complete such an imperative mission. Every noise, every shadow had been a false hope and as the minutes had ticked by with no result, the restlessness ate away at them all. The men did not want to let down their CO and frustration fueled an anger that was harder to keep at bay.

As each day passed without a capture, so did the rumors of the prey they stalked. She did not know what a ninja was and the batman was familiar to her, but these thoughts and ideas about what they were up against made the thrum of latent hostility within the search party that much more palpable. Teyla wasn't sure how much more any member could take of leaving the bowels of the city empty handed.

It was the worst kind of disappointment.

The guards in front of Rodney's room held out their hands, eyes flicking from motion detectors to her position.

Sergeant Robbins nodded at her. "You're clear."

"Thank you, Sergeant," she replied. Corporal Collins remained silent, his eyes intent on the empty space behind her.

Before Teyla could enter, the doors swooshed open making the three of them jump, all hands prepping their weapons.

"There you are. You're late," Rodney huffed, oblivious to the knee jerk reaction his outburst had created.

"I'm sorry. We were at the far west section of the city and it took longer to get back. I needed to shower and change before I came---"

Rodney waved a hand to quiet her explanation. "Yeah, yeah. All that matters is you're here. I've had enough already and was about to pummel him with anything I could find if I couldn't leave."

Going inside temporarily forgotten, Teyla followed the walking tirade into the next corridor. "What is wrong?" she asked, grabbing his elbow when he didn't slow down.

"_What's wrong_? Hmmm let me think about that. Could it be that I had to endure watching him battle the nurse over wanting to try using that archaic walker too soon? Or maybe it's trying to offer him some solace after he woke up from another nightmare, that, of course, he denies he even had. Oh wait, perhaps it's his constant mood swings."

Teyla held firmly onto Rodney's shoulder to halt his pacing. "Give him time."

"For what? He sleeps most hours, thanks to the machine of happiness. When he's alert, all he does is demand more information about an investigation that's at a standstill. If that's not enough, he tries to get out of bed so he can expedite _the healing process_," Rodney said, using his fingers to add invisible quotes. "I caught him before he collapsed during one of his attempts to hobble and he nearly bit my head off for helping."

Teyla set her box down and grabbed her worried friend by both shoulders. "John has been attacked, stabbed and poisoned. He's in constant pain, under heavy medication and his body is not in the shape he is used to. He's being targeted for death by an unmerciful hunter and for a man who values his control---John has lost it all. It's very difficult for him to deal with so many stressful things at once."

Rodney's tense muscles sagged in her grip, fervent blue eyes giving in to the worry within. "He sleeps with a gun. Did you notice?"

"And you carry one."

He looked down at the sidearm, his face faltering. "Yeah."

"It gives you empowerment and John a sense of security."

"I guess we're both poster children for false hope."

"We will find the person responsible for this and John will get better." Teyla picked up her parcel. "Until then, we must be a source of strength for the colonel. We must not add to his toil."

The scientist looked at the ground uncomfortably, his expression changing as he got a sparkle in his eye. "While waiting for you to get here, I got an ingenious idea. One that should help the search teams locate our ninja warrior and, remarkably, all it's gonna take is some spray paint!" Rodney gave a chuckle. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before!"

"That's good. I'll see if I can do anything to make John feel better."

"Good luck with that."

Teyla shook her head, knowing the challenge she was up against, and hoped her preparations would prove helpful for them all.

* * *

"Are those really slippers?"

Teyla didn't understand the indignant exasperation in John's voice. "They are so you don't fall when trying to walk around."

"I have a robe... now all I'm missing is a pipe," Sheppard joked.

She did not get the humor so she resigned herself to watching him stare at his covered feet. He wore a white scrub top and pants; the _robe_ was just an unbuttoned hospital shirt to help prevent any chills. All his attachments were absent, save for the IV that remained to keep him hydrated and for his various medications. The colonel brushed away her offer to help, taking a deep breath as he methodically swung his bad leg over, grunting from the movement, until both limbs dangled above the floor.

"Didn't you work with the nurse earlier today?" Teyla asked, holding onto the walker to keep it still.

"What can I say... I'm an over achiever," he replied, mustering up the energy to stand.

"If you push yourself too far, then all this will do is cause a set back. Dr. Beckett does not think you should be trying this for a few more days."

"Carson has good intentions. I just want to go over to the chair and sit up for a while."

Teyla knew he could be upright in bed just as easily. It wasn't a long distance to the large cushioned chair and the sooner she acquiesced to the colonel's desire for independence, the quicker he could relax. "Very well, but perhaps you should hit your pain medication device. It's very hard for you to move around."

"Don't want to depend on that," the colonel said, pushing off the bed slowly and settling his weight on both feet.

Teyla wrapped one arm around his waist as she guided him over to the walker, his weight leaning heavily against her frame. Sheppard's knees buckled just as he grabbed each handle of the walker, his arms straining to help keep him in a standing position. The metal legs of his walker shook and Teyla tightened her hold around him as he hunched over the support.

"I'm okay," he said.

She never let go of him, the muscles in his back taut and shaky. "Concentrate on your breathing," she encouraged.

"Yeah," he exhaled, stepping with his right foot and lifting the walker enough forward before moving his left one a few inches.

The rubber ends of the walker lumbered along the surface of the floor, and every time Sheppard moved his badly injured leg, the lines in his face doubled. Teyla rolled the IV stand and PCA pump along with her free hand, careful he didn't trip over them.

Clomp. Shuffle. Clomp. Shuffle.

It was a tedious trek with copious amounts of cursing that she didn't comment on. A few times John looked like he would keel over when he listed to one side heavily, but he would not be deterred. By the time he reached the chair, all the color had drained from his face and she placed her shoulder under his armpit to ease him down before he collapsed and fell over.

"Maybe you'll reconsider your pain relief next time," she admonished.

"No," he said, sinking into the furniture. "I'm on enough of it."

Sighing and still very sore herself, Teyla grabbed a folding chair and sat heavily in it. "There's a reason for that."

"Have you found his ship?"

"What?"

Sheppard cradled his bandaged arm against his chest and flexed his hand. "Voulsh's ship. Any trace of it?"

"Colonel Caldwell has searched for signs of it and has not been successful. He and Rodney believe it must use the same type of cloaking technology as his personal body armor."

"What about a power source? It's gotta give off an energy reading. Maybe he's hiding in his ship stashed near one of the piers."

"We think it conceals all power readings. He cannot hide forever and there have been no attempts to venture into the city or our motion detectors would have picked up his movements. Our measures have kept him isolated."

The colonel didn't give her eye contact, the frustration clearly obvious. John fidgeted in his chair and rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks. "Five days is a long time. He's going to get desperate and I'm sure he's low on supplies."

"He'll make a mistake and we will be there to catch him."

Her friend laughed. It wasn't filled with joy or amusement, but tinged with doubt and disbelief. "These 'people'... the _Rashakash_… I read the intel report on file. They have these dark scary underground caves with miles upon miles of hidden caverns. Do you know what they do with them? Drop one of their _chosen_ kids off with a knife and tell the child to find their way back. No light. No water. Oh, and they let loose this animal that sounds like a wolf to hunt them down just to add to the difficulty."

"John."

"Every hour that the kid doesn't make it back, they release another creature to increase the danger."

"We won't let him harm you."

The colonel leaned forward and spoke in a snarl very rarely used. "I can't hide here forever, Teyla. Sooner or later, I'm going to walk out that door. Are you guys going to shadow my every step? This Voulsh's very reason for living is to kill me and when he's tired of playing games, he's just going to hurt anyone that gets in his way. "

Teyla took his hand. "You pledge to protect your people, John Sheppard, and we will do the same for you."

The pilot ran a hand through his unruly hair and didn't press the issue. Not wanting the rest of the night to dissolve into unpleasant thoughts, she remembered the box she had brought. "I have something to take your mind off of things."

She crossed the room to gather the items and pulled out a white folded up bag. Sheppard looked on in curiosity, both knowing he did not like to dwell on heavy emotional topics. Teyla walked over to the mini microwave that Rodney kept on one of his shelves.

"I think it's funny that Dr. McKay has one of these," she said, stuffing the bag inside before setting the clock.

"We all have our priorities," Sheppard muttered. "What are you doing?"

She smiled at him coyly. "Making popcorn."

"Popcorn?" Sheppard's eyes lit up. "Is this dinner and a movie?"

"We have already eaten, but I did bring one that Rodney always vetoes when we all try to choose."

The pilot wiggled in his chair trying to sneak a peek at the DVD she concealed in her hands. "McKay hates all the good stuff. What are we going to watch it on? There's no TV."

Her grin widened. "I borrowed a lap top from Dr. Zelenka, the one with the wide screen."

"He lent you his baby?"

"Now if you can get back to bed, we can watch it."

"You just want me in bed so you can have your way in my weakened condition," he joked.

Teyla quirked an eyebrow. "If you do not behave then I'll take it back." She peered down at the item. "_Top Gun_."

Mentioning the title of the movie had the colonel the most animated since his injury and the two of them made slow progress to get him situated. He breathed heavily from the exertion, but his spirits were brightened by the prospect of watching her surprise and he made sure to take only a small dosage of his morphine in order to stay awake for the whole thing. Teyla moved the chair and pushed down the railing, placing the computer on the side of the bed so both could view it.

Teyla quickly realized that_ Top Gun _fell into the same category of films as the one about the speeding bus, the guy trapped in a tower with terrorists and the robot that protected the boy from another time. She never did understand why the killer terminator was evil in one film then good in the next one.

All the flying planes were interesting and Teyla wondered if the colonel molded himself with the lead role.

"Do you identify with Maverick?"

Sheppard chuckled. "Don't you start, I hear enough about that from McKay."

"But didn't you once brake one of the jumpers and let the other ship pass you by before shooting it down?"

The colonel did the thing where he bobbled his head from side to side before answering. "Yeah, once. It worked though."

"Did you fly such craft like those in the movie?"

"I never had a wing man, but my fighter was very similar." He snuggled his head among the pillows, eyes drifting shut as he spoke. "Jets are fast and cool; I used to test them on my world, but I prefer choppers."

She rested her arm near his shoulder, keeping her tone soft. "The ones with the blades?"

"Yeah. There's something about seeing the sky with your own eyes instead of an instrument tray," he murmured drowsily.

The lights were dimmed and she picked up the lap top and quietly placed it on the a table, before pulling the sheet over his form. She debated whether to hit the button on the PCA machine without his permission and decided it wasn't her decision. The night nurse usually came by around three AM to check on the machines and ensured that he was comfortable during the late night.

She stretched her back, her joints popping and stood up to get ready for sleep in Rodney's bed, when a hand grabbed her arm.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

Teyla squeezed his hand. "Sleep well tonight."

Before she settled for her own night's rest, she was relieved to hear the sound of the PCA release its medication. She prepared for her normal nightly meditation, centering herself cross-legged on the bed and allowing herself to hope that the next day would bring an end to this terrible ordeal.

* * *

How many times could he fail during one mission? He pressed his side, rubbing a thumb heavily over the black exoskeleton that covered up the stitched up skin and inflicted pain over his wound in punishment, savoring the burning sensation.

Sheppard was alive.

Voulsh fingered the chord securing the colonel's metal tags and vowed to never give up the symbol to one man's defiance to death. Sheppard's people hid him away but they did n't understand the depth of his resolve. Tapping into the city's communications informed him of his target's status but would not devolve his current location.

The hunt was taking place on both sides as the 'Lantean teams became more unpredictable and ceased using mathematical patterns that were easy to predict. They tried to lure him in other directions while others lay in wait to follow. He would not fall for any ploy, avoiding their tactics.

He designated each team with a number, recognizing stilted voices during breaks in silence as well as odors, slight differences in gait and individual heights. Teams One and Three were searching south while units Two and Four were in the area he vacated an hour ago.

Which left the unpredictable Satedan, whose efforts became a constant distraction. He longed for vindication in the runner's intrusion of his mission, but a dead body would only make his final objective harder to obtain. It was time to acquire more reconnaissance and finish the job. He'd never been this close to the populated areas since the security measures had been implemented. His helmet's heat signatures were blurred, even after he adjusted the sensors to no avail, forcing him to use normal vision. They were jamming his equipment with something short range.

When a unit of soldiers rounded the corner, he flattened his back once again to avoid detection. Much like the Kemida chameleons, many troops passed by him, unaware of how he blended into the background. It was unit Four, led by the one called Lorne. His team had been most persistent of them all.

* * *

Major Lorne carried the weight of command without reservations. Some men preferred obeying orders that the structure of the military offered; serving through obedience and never having to make the tough choices. Most of the soldiers posted at Atlantis did not fall into that category; all of them had been hand picked for the expedition for their leadership and skills.

Even though Colonel Caldwell had stepped into Sheppard's shoes in assuming command, the guys still looked to him for guidance. It filled Lorne with pride at the willingness of everyone to give over 110 in their pursuit. No one ever complained about the longer shifts, the tighter security. They all held the same goal.

To find the bastard.

It was their second shift in the same day, another eight hours of a time-consuming search. His team did eight hours on, two off, than an additional six in extra duty, while the other teams had a late dinner meeting with Dr. McKay about new ideas. There was always something different, adjusting the grids, redeploying the men in other ways. They configured the city's sensors to wreak havoc on thermal technology and help prevent the assassin from using his toys to get around.

The physicist had requested flour of all things a few hours ago; thousands of pounds of white dust to sprinkle the ground of the empty sectors where they could follow any footprints made afterwards. It was an unusual idea, one they even pondered, until everyone realized that they didn't have the provisions.

The other ridiculous suggestion, well, that had merit.

His men passed the first checkpoint around the outskirts of the city when he noticed Sergeant Murdock lingering behind. He turned around ready to bark orders about double-timing it, when the bullish man pulled out a can of spray paint.

Before Lorne could react, Murdock pressed the nozzle sending out a wide spray of red that misted the air and covered the brick wall. He was furious, didn't they just have a conversation about informing the rest of the team when something didn't _feel right?_ The wet substance splattered the floor and coated the front of an object just two inches away.

"Major..." Murdock shouted.

Lorne watched in horror as the Sergeant's jaw popped out of its hinge unnaturally and he grabbed his P90 as the burly man's head twisted at a sharp angle, the bones snapping.

"Target the red paint!" Lorne screamed, firing at the moving patch of color.

Lorne rolled to the floor as blue streaks from an energy gun missed him and fired again from his belly.

Private Cratos and Sergeant Braise were hit in the chest by the enemy's energy weapon.

"We need back up in sector six-five-three. We have located the target!" he shouted, scanning for the red moving smear.

The chest plating covered with paint, dove to the floor, the assassin camouflaging the mark with the floor.

"Aim for the ground!"

Captain Lewis shelled the tile with his P90, riddling the entire surface of the floor with bullets. Four more Marines came from the other hallway, anxious faces searched for something to aim at, while they shielded their bodies behind the corners.

The ground smoldered with dust and smoke from the obliterated floor and Lorne could hear the coms squawking with chatter as more Marines came to their aid.

"Hold your position. Our guy is cloaked... If you see anything red, shoot on sight!" he ordered.

The MPs behind him inched closer to cover their CO and he didn't even have time to chastise their bravery. Lorne trained his weapon a few inches above the ground, eyes searching for any movement or distortion in the air. He chewed on his lip, knowing even more reinforcements were on the way. _Maybe the flour idea wasn't so bad after all._

Lorne raised the barrel of his automatic to fire at every square inch in front of him, when the ground simmered. The fluctuation was moving away from his position.

Lorne pointed at the minuscule light refractions, heading right towards the Marines. "Fire at your twelve o'clock!"

He couldn't shoot his weapon in fear of hitting his own men and the Marines in front of him had to do the same, forced to aim at the floor again. P90s rocketed the small space and Lorne could barely hear over the roar.

He watched in awe as bullets impacted with something, the cloak shimmering at the area struck by the projectiles. The blob surged forward and he watched in horror as his men were disarmed, weapons wrenched from their grasps, their body's reacting to invisible blows.

Blood sprayed from one guy's throat, the cast off covering his buddy. The blood-covered Marine engaged in hand to hand, only to be stabbed, wounds appearing along torn parts of his shirt until he collapsed.

"We need reinforcements, target is heading north towards sector six-five-four!"

All the guys that held the area went down, some were bleeding and others knocked unconscious. Lorne rushed up to cover the gaping hole of a corporal's chest while another nearby moaned in pain.

"We need med teams here! We have several men down. I repeat we have several men down!"

He tried to soothe the whimpering of the Marine beside him, red smeared all over his hands. "You hang on, soldier!" he ordered.

The target was gone, escaped into the city.

"Lock down all sectors! Secure all corridors," he radioed.

They could keep the assassin from gaining access to the general population and their quarters, but there was no telling what Voulsh would do. The hunter could back track into the unpopulated areas or find a place to hide out until he found Colonel Sheppard. Lorne noticed that the Marine dying before him wasn't in possession of his radio. The assassin was now closer to his goal and had the means to eavesdrop on all their communications.

* * *

_Thank you to all of those who have been so supportive, your comments are like cookies._


	11. Chapter 11

Rodney was a terrible liar, even if a few precarious missions had given him plenty of rehearsal; a white lie here and there, rambles of scientific theorems to stall for time and even full fledged cover stories in event of capture. When it came to bluffing?

He sucked.

He'd been confined to his lab when Elizabeth had switched to inner computer communications to message him about the fire fight. Hours crawled by, work halted to a stand still and his sweaty palm rested on the butt of his weapon more than he ever cared to admit.

By the time he was allowed to leave, he'd insisted on walking back without an escort to keep from raising suspicions about his new roommate. Every shadow made him jump and he did a pretty damn good impersonation of an owl, craning his neck every three seconds to check behind him. Teyla met him right outside the entrance to his quarters, exhausted and frazzled looking.

She had received the same security alert message from his lap top and made him promise not to tell Sheppard about what happened. He argued against the absurdity of the whole idea. In the end... he had lost. You did not argue with Teyla.

The next day he had been forced to lie to one grumpy and fed up colonel about why it wasn't such a good idea to go out for a stroll. Things had been easier when Sheppard was asleep for hours on end.

"You're under the delusion that I need your permission," Sheppard said, tapping at the computer, then giving the keyboard a good whack. "This lap top isn't working."

_Count to three_, Rodney told himself. "Using that military mind that only knows about force to get things to cooperate, isn't going to magically repair it."

Sheppard ignored him, turning the machine off in hopes of rebooting it. What the pilot didn't know was that Rodney had taken the thing off line so a certain annoying roommate didn't stumble across any reports concerning the attack.

"Are you even going to take a look at it? I'd like to be able to stay in the loop," Sheppard complained.

"It's not on the top of my agenda right now and stop trying to play military commander. You're laid up for a while."

Sheppard turned in his seat to face him. "Then I'm getting out of here."

"You forget the whole not being able to walk thing." His gaze fell on a pair of crutches that the colonel didn't have a chance in Hell of using any time soon, despite how Sheppard stared at them in false hope. "If you try those, you'll break your neck... Plus they're _mine._"

"I have a wheelchair."

Rodney had forgotten about the stupid thing that Carson had left just in case the colonel required any scans or tests that would require an infirmary visit---- that put a crick his plans.

"And besides, you don't even use those crutches," Sheppard huffed as he grabbed the walker and hauled himself up.

The guy always had to get the parting shot.

"Before you had to one up me, I did have to use those things. My foot still hurts every time I step on it."

Colonel Jackass shuffled badly towards the wheelchair, the metal contraption creating enough noise to make a herd of stampeding elephants jealous. The pilot struggled to maintain his balance and wasn't able to conceal how little weight he placed on his left leg.

"I still think Carson might be a little ticked that you keep unhooking your IV for these little walkabouts."

"The catheter is still inserted; I hate dragging that damn pole around."

Sheppard battled with the wheelchair, maneuvering his body into the seat and cursing as the walker fell over before he was situated.

Rodney rushed over and supported Sheppard when his leg gave out from under him. "Hey, easy."

"Damn it!" the colonel cursed, but Rodney kept him from falling over the wheelchair and settled him into the leather seat.

They both huffed from the exertion; Rodney caught his breath while Sheppard held on to his thigh for dear life. Asking if the pilot was okay was rhetorical so instead Rodney waited for the man to regain his composure. Sheppard pulled at the fabric around his knee and put his leg into the foot rest.

"One...way ..or another," Sheppard gasped, "I'm going to breathe fresh ocean air."

To prove his point, the bullheaded man pushed the wheels until Rodney blocked his path.

"Get out of my way, McKay."

"Or what? You'll run over me?"

"If that's what it takes."

"With the nominal amount of force you're capable of producing? I'll take my chances."

"I'm not hiding in here anymore."

Rodney's mind was known for its brilliant speed for calculations but it sputtered and stalled when put to the test of ad libbing. Every reason, every logical explanation for not going out there was part of the _forbidden knowledge._ Why couldn't he be a better poker player?

"Can't you stop being selfish for once and consider all the hard work of every person searching the city for your assailant?"

"If I let this guy dictate my life then he wins!"

"Just for a few days, Colonel."

"No. I'm not bowing down. I'll stay in your room until I can move around on my own. I know to let Lorne and Caldwell run things for a while. Hell, I'm submitting to this stupid freakin' wheelchair. But I'll be damned if I let some ugly alien assassin determine when I can walk the halls of _my_ city!"

"Wheel."

"Whatever."

"It's..." Rodney got tongue tied between the truth and what was best for his friend.

"It's what?...Is there something you're not telling me?"

Rodney was so bad at this. "No. ..Nothing."

They stared at each other in a stand off and he knew nothing would stop John Sheppard once he set his mind on a task.

"Fine, we'll go to the pier, it's just down the hall, but don't get used to me pushing you. I'm not your servant you know."

Strike one on keeping the stir crazy colonel from leaving his room. Now he had to convince the guards that it wasn't the stupidest idea ever to let the guy with a bull's eye on his chest exit the security of his safely guarded quarters. Rodney wheeled the colonel out of his room for the first time since he'd been imprisoned for his own good, undoing the snap of his gun holster just in case he needed to pull it out in an emergency.

If they made it there and back alive, he vowed to practice the whole lying thing again.

* * *

Three hallways stretched onward for way too long; like _The Shining's_ Overlook Hotel spooky corridor type of long. There were four turns in all, with four Marines escorting them the three minutes it required to reach the nearest pier. 

Sheppard didn't notice that neither armed man used their radios; maybe it was because he was still keyed up from arguing with two subordinates before pulling rank and reminding them of how many stripes they each had on their collars. A pair of _yes, sirs_ later and a flagged down patrol from nearby and they were outside on the balcony.

Rodney paced the landing while he scoped out the area behind them. The only tactical advantage the pier served was that there was only one direction to worry about an ambush coming from. Sheppard relaxed, deeply breathing in the salty breeze and lay his head back to stare up at the deep blue sky.

"Will you be still? You're ruining the moment."

"Excuse me for being a little nervous about being around a neon sign that reads 'target'."

"Maybe I should save us all the trouble and shoot myself."

Rodney stalked over, his right eye twitching in an impending aneurysm "That's not funny, Colonel! You think this is a game? That you can play reckless hero with your life? I didn't think you were into martyrdom and I sure as hell don't like being around kamikaze pilots!"

Sheppard spun his chair around and for a moment the injured man didn't appear too incapacitated. Between the storm brewing behind his hazel eyes and the rising flush to his face, Rodney thought the colonel could quite easily waste him or anyone stupid enough to mess with him. It was scary how quickly the switch from nonchalant Sheppard to trained military killer could be flipped.

"I will not act in this sick little play, McKay. I told you once already. If this guy can dictate my life from the shadows then he's won. I am not some pawn to be manipulated."

"No one said you were," Rodney said, holding his hands out in supplication.

The colonel unclenched the handlebars and nodded to himself. "Well, good. I'm glad we came to an understanding."

Sheppard seemed embarrassed by his outburst, looking over at the Marines to verify that their attention was elsewhere. He moved his injured leg out of the footrest and humbly looked up at the physicist. "Do you think you could help me up?"

The circuit breaker to John Sheppard reset itself and Rodney found himself by his side. "Yeah. What is it that you want to do?"

"I want to stand over by the railing. I just need a hand."

Sheppard wrapped his arm around Rodney's shoulders and stood up, waiting to see if he could hold his weight. Satisfied that he wouldn't keel over, Rodney helped Sheppard hobble over to the railing as the pilot used the beam to hold on to and peered at the ocean below. He backed away to give the man a little personal space but not too far, just in case the whole being upright thing got too much.

"Funny how a few years ago I was surrounded by ice as far as the eye could see. Now I don't know what I'd do if I didn't smell the sea everyday," Sheppard drawled in a heavy voice.

"I've never been into the whole water thing. I don't understand the allure of frying your skin into early cancer and I find fishing to be boring."

"You need to experience surfing."

Rodney snorted. "No thank you."

For a few minutes the sounds of the ocean currents lured him into a false sense of normalcy. Everything was right with the galaxy and there were no monsters to slay or people to save.

"The meeting's tomorrow."

Rodney rolled his eyes; so much for a moment's solace. "Yes, Ladon is coming here for a real face to face talk."

He couldn't see the colonel's expression but he didn't need to; everything about Sheppard's feelings on the subject were plain as day in his voice. "Who's handling security?"

"Caldwell since Lorne's ...well, he's been busy..."

Sheppard leaned heavily across the rail and turned his head. "Distractions can be deadly in times like these."

"They certainly are, sir."

They both turned to watch Lorne enter the balcony with more Marines stationed behind him that took up positions near the corners. The typically well-composed major stormed over, undoubtedly wanting to test out the definition of insubordination. "What the hell are you doing here, sir?"

"Checking out the ocean."

"With all due respect, sir, this is idiotic." Lorne gave Rodney a scathing look. "And I thought some people knew better than to pull this type of stunt."

"_Some _people don't know any better." Ronon's voice boomed.

Sheppard did an awkward hop-hobble to face both irate members of his team. "I don't need a hall pass to roam around."

"Considering the circumstances, I'd have to disagree," Lorne challenged.

"Duly noted," Sheppard retorted.

Ronon went toe to toe with his CO. "I know that you hate feeling powerless, but coming out here will not avenge our guys' deaths."

Rodney felt the color drain from his face and was at a loss for words, while the colonel's expression went from puzzled to downright enraged.

"What are you talking about?"

Rodney found his voice, attempting some damage control. "Um... maybe we should--"

Ronon shook his head. "I told Teyla that lying was a waste of time."

Sheppard gnashed his teeth together and ground out the words. "About. What?"

Lorne must have sensed the impending volcanic eruption and stepped up. "My team was going back on patrol. When we were exiting the last checkpoint that led to the unpopulated area, Sergeant Murdock must have noticed that Voulsh was near us. Dr. McKay suggested we carry around aerosol cans filled with paint to use in our search."

"Many of our teams report feeling like someone's around, but no way to verify it. I thought...you know, spray the area down," Rodney explained.

The major lowered his voice. "We're not sure what happened, but the guy was quick. He took my team out in seconds, our backup, and broke through our defenses. He's at large _inside_ the city."

Sheppard arms trembled from being locked in place in his pathetic attempt to stay standing, but no one dared to offer him any help. "Injuries?"

Lorne worked his jaw. "Two of my guys were stunned, a few Marines suffered minor concussions and cracked bones. Sergeant Murdock, Corporal Billings and Hastens were killed. He also took one of the com units, so we've limited all vital communication to computer e-mail only."

Ronon either didn't notice the impending explosion or thought it was a good idea to get it over with. He gave the wheelchair a slight nudge towards the colonel. "You might want to sit down before you fall."

John Sheppard could be prone to very irrational thought when he let anger cloud his judgment.

"Sonuvabitch!" he yelled and lashed out by kicking the wheelchair with his good leg, thus placing all of his weight on the one with a gaping hole.

Ronon caught Sheppard by the shoulders, supporting his total weight effortlessly while Lorne grabbed the chair and held it still.

"Get off of me, I'm fine!" Sheppard snapped, struggling against the big guy and trying not to fall on his ass.

Ronon maneuvered him into the wheelchair, even as the pilot tried to shake off any help.

The three men let their friend wait out the pain, even if the physical part wasn't the one doing the most damage. Guilt was a badge that many of them carried, but Sheppard was especially good at heaping those demerit points onto himself.

They waited and Rodney paced, not enjoying the whole crucification thing. The colonel sat up straighter, having tucked away all the unpleasantness under the rug, where he kept everything else.

"Give me a radio," Sheppard ordered to no one specific.

"Sir?" Lorne asked skeptically.

"Now, Major."

Lorne looked from Ronon to Rodney before plucking the com piece from his ear. "Here it is, but I already told you that--"

The pilot didn't pay the man any attention, thumbing it on. "Colonel Caldwell, this is Sheppard."

The radio was silent before a confused Caldwell responded. "_Colonel Sheppard, what are you---_?"

"I'm sorry about missing the meeting we had planned, but I wanted you to know that Carson cleared me for the conference with Ladon tomorrow. I know you wanted me to contact you earlier, but we're getting together later tonight about it."

"_What the--"_

"Sheppard out," he said, clicking off the transmission.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rodney exclaimed.

The colonel tossed the radio back to Lorne who caught it dumbfounded. "I'm ending this thing, that's what."

* * *

Sheppard was back in bed, the head raised high enough where he sat upright and IV where it belonged; Rodney saw him hit the PCA machine for a small dosage of his pain medication. Despite the bravado and anger, Sheppard was in desperate need of pharmaceutical relief and could barely move around after the balcony escapade. Rodney knew it was the longest the pilot had gone without morphine. 

There was just enough time for the pain meds to take the edge off before the cavalry arrived for the impromptu meeting. Ronon and Teyla stood side by side, only to be matched by Caldwell and Elizabeth who made up the pair of book ends on the other side of the bed. Rodney sat on his bunk, thinking that his quarters were way too crowded for his liking.

Sheppard didn't even allow any of them get the first word before launching into his suicidal plan. "It's time to stop playing by his rules. We determine when and where this guy comes and on our own turf."

"By being bait?" Elizabeth asked exasperatedly.

"To flush him out," Sheppard corrected as if substituting the words made a difference.

"How is being out in the open any type of plan?" Teyla inquired.

"I won't be. I'll go shake Ladon's hand and go find a nice, out of the way place to--"

"Be target practice," Rodney finished for him.

"To be in position for our guys to take Voulsh out," Sheppard said, glaring at him.

"We can't guarantee your safety like that," Caldwell spoke up.

"You can't _now_. At least this way, we have more control," Sheppard countered.

Elizabeth spoke, turning to the rest of them before setting her eyes on Sheppard. "I don't like it."

"I'll wear a Kevlar vest."

Rodney turned to the pilot. "Oh, that'll save you if he aims for your head."

"Wouldn't we put in jeopardy the peace negotiations with the Genii by allowing the assassin into the proceeding? I don't think they would appreciate such deception," Teyla said, trying to include the big picture.

Ronon spoke up for the first time. "It's the Genii who hired the _Rashakash_."

"Not all of them. Ladon is the one who offered up the information to begin with," Elizabeth pointed out. "He didn't have to tell us. It was an olive branch."

Ronon shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

"We're talking a very volatile situation, Colonel," Caldwell addressed the pilot. "It could backfire big time."

"What would you do if our roles we're reversed, sir?" Sheppard asked.

The commander of the Daedalus considered the question and sighed. "I'd probably do the same thing."

Rodney raised his hand. "And who is going to be protecting the walking target? It's not like you can do very much to defend yourself."

"I can still fire a gun, McKay."

Ronon twirled his blaster in his hand. "I'll stand by him."

"As will I," Teyla added.

"No," Sheppard blurted.

"Can't order us not to," Ronon said, holstering the weapon.

The colonel didn't have a come back when Caldwell raised an eyebrow daring him to argue.

"It's a stupid plan," Rodney mumbled.

Sheppard turned to him. "It's all we've got. I'm not letting him kill any more people to get to me."

Caldwell looked to Elizabeth who didn't appear to be buying the whole concept at all. It was dangerous and unpredictable... a dumb solution derived from too many action movies.

In the end, there wasn't another answer.

"I'll get Lorne to help organize everything. We'll use our best black op's guys on this and whatever new ideas that Dr. McKay might have in trying to get past Voulsh's cloaking technology." Caldwell looked at his watch. "We don't have a hell of a lot of time to put this in motion and I suspect that Dr. Beckett might have something to say about this whole thing."

Rodney could see the facade cracking, Sheppard's careful mask crumbling under the strain of putting up his tough guy front. "Fine, we'll burn the midnight oil as it were. Now everyone get out. I'd like to have my room back. "

They slowly exited, each giving the colonel encouragement. Elizabeth lingered around and approached the bed. "Try to get some sleep; you're going to need it for this foolhardy stunt."

Rodney brought the laptop back on line and began his search for the proverbial needle in a haystack- the possibility of a weakness in the _Rashakash_'s impenetrable defenses. He was tapping away on his keyboard when Sheppard's voice brought him out of the zone.

"Your computer was never broken." It wasn't a full outright accusation.

"Go to bed. Better yet, take your medication. You know how much you whine when that nurse gives you that shot in the stomach."

"I'm sure Carson will save that very pleasure when he comes here to lecture me."

"Your plan stands a snowball's chance in hell in working. You can't even stand, let alone wave the red flag in front of a charging bull."

"You can't stop the inevitable, Rodney. No matter how good your intentions."

It wasn't the retribution Rodney expected for his deceit earlier. Sheppard's words bothered him, but when he finally got the nerve to confront the man about it, he heard the release to the happy juice machine and the pilot's eyes were closed.

This wasn't fair. He hated this feeling of helplessness-- that he couldn't do a damn thing. That's when it hit him and he cursed Sheppard for making him understand all of his motivations.

* * *

Voulsh pulled out the plastic tube from its shoulder compartment, then looked in the mirror to see the damaged parts of his helmet before attempting to release the bottom section under his chin. He'd been trying to avoid disassembling it very often, but he needed to drink. The mouthpiece separated and he took his first breath of normal air; a stark change from the supplemental oxygen his mask supplied that enriched his veins and improved his stamina. 

He placed the tube between his lips and drank until his daily requirement was reached. He was proud of his suit, comprised of many elements. The shielding, the cloak and the basic shell of the exoskeleton provided protection and the core component was once used for survival in the most arid of climates. He could sustain his need for water for weeks from the waste filtration system of the internal pouches.

He rubbed at the healing wounds around his cheek, his jaw still swollen from bullet ricochets. His grey skin was mottled blue and purple with bruises but at least his teeth were still intact. Voulsh walked away from the mirror and wandered around his hiding space, knowing that the 'Lanteans would never look right under their noses.

He would wait and bide his time before finishing the job. The military men had used a sprayable paint to mark him; it had been an unfortunate incident. They had been easily outsmarted, once again proving irrational emotional responses to be a flaw in any type of fight. But escaping the patrol had cost him an opportunity to strike and now the city was more alert than ever.

He gulped down more liquid, roaming the room and pausing to look around. The communication a few minutes ago had been a lure and he knew the meeting tomorrow was a trap, but one thing was for sure. His target would be there, ending the games in the dark.

John Sheppard would not cower and hide; the pleasure of killing him would be great indeed. It was just a matter of how and by what means. Voulsh flicked his wrist, the blade that had nearly taken such a valued life slipping into the palm of his hand. Maybe he would use it to finally fulfill his oath.

His internal communications device squawked and he tapped his ear in irritation. There was to have been no interruption until his job was complete. Only one person had this frequency and he answered in anger.

"Why have you broken silence?"

"_It has been days without word from you."_

He moved around the small space, studying the portrait in front of him. "I have not completed my mission yet. It has proven challenging, but I expect results by tomorrow."

"_Yes, we know."_

Voulsh wondered about the significance of the dark clothed man, what influence he held. "As I told you before, I have never failed."

"_We are aware, but there has been a change in plans. Your services are no longer needed."_

He froze. "My job is incomplete."

"_A rare opportunity has arisen. We have a plan in motion to take out not only Colonel Sheppard, but that of the person who kept our revenge away from us."_

Voulsh found himself in front of a desk, eying the strange replica. He fingered the wings of a flying machine, interested in the detail used to re-create it. "You wish me to take on another assignment during the meeting with your leadership?"

"_No. We have a man who will take care of everything for us. We will pay you for your time, but our plans do not include your help."_

He stared at a picture of another man in a very bright costume. "That is unacceptable. I will not stop what I have begun."

"_We are terminating your contract --"_

"I will kill Sheppard. There is no renegotiation. There is only one way for this to end and that is by my hand."

"_Voulsh! The deal is off! We will not tolerate---"_

He cut off the transmission and set the control to his radio on mute. They did not fully comprehend the scope of any assignment; it wasn't theirs to dictate. Once a life had been sworn to be taken, it was the only existing goal. Nothing else mattered. Voulsh would not allow them to interfere. He sat down on Sheppard's bunk, taking in the man's scant possessions.

He had already set upon his course and would not be stopped.


	12. Chapter 12

"I told ya I wanted to examine you one more time before ya did anything else," Carson chastised the colonel.

Ronon did his best not to say _I told you so_, but for once he kept his thoughts to himself. After all, he was awkwardly holding on to Sheppard's BDUs with nowhere else to put them. He'd been helping the man get dressed until the Doc came by to give one final scrutiny. Sheppard sat on the bed perturbed, in his black t-shirt, boxers---minus his pants. Ronon sighed and slung the desired items over his shoulder while trying to look elsewhere.

"Considering all your bloody attempts to undo my work, these stitches are healing nominally well. The skin has nice elasticity and tone. There are no signs of infection and good approximation of the tissues," the physician complimented, prodding the zig zags of thread that held the large wound together.

"Can I finish changing now?"

"Some patients might like to know that there'll be minimal scarring," Carson huffed.

"I've got somewhere to be," Sheppard reminded the man needlessly.

"Aye, I know all about your _plan_, but not before I re-dress your wound." Carson proceeded to secure a large amount of white gauze around the thigh. "You may be impatient to get goin', however, you forget that your artery was damaged and this type of injury doesn't heal fast just because you want it to. It'll be a while before you recover full use of your leg. When's the last time you had a dosage of your pain meds?"

Sheppard looked over at Ronon with an expression that forbade him from squealing.

"About an hour ago," Sheppard lied.

"Really? That why you're squirming so much?" Carson dogged him. "I'm going to put these ace bandages on now to give the muscle a bit more stability."

The colonel grimaced, his body flinching at the added pressure from the wrap.

"Why not take a small amount, lad? I know you won't let me administer more during this foolish operation."

"I need to be alert and won't be if I'm flying through the clouds."

"But Colonel--"

"Now, if you want to give me a mild stimulant to counter act any fogginess…"

"Not bloody likely!" Carson exclaimed as he completed the last circumference of beige material and secured it in place with metal clips.

"Thought I'd ask."

The physician glared a full minute before packing away his equipment. "Thank goodness I control your antibiotics and all your other medications. Prescriptions are not ingredients in a recipe. You don't mess around with mixing such things." He finished his lecture and gazed worriedly at his patient. "Nothing I can do to talk you out of this?"

"No."

Ronon lowered the BDUs for the pilot. Sheppard stepped into the first hole with his right leg, grabbing his shoulder for balance. Then he lifted his left leg as little as possible before placing weight on both feet, pulling up his pants with plenty of cursing.

While Sheppard zipped up, Ronon retrieved the pilot's belt, gun, and knife, handing them over.

"Thanks."

Ronon grabbed a pair of boots stashed in the corner and dropped them on the floor next to Sheppard's feet. The colonel peered down at them and chewed his bottom lip in concentration. Carson, who had waited quietly, tutted out loud. "Oh, no you don't. No bending or undo straining. I'll help."

Ronon didn't watch out of respect and stalked back and forth, psyching himself up for what was to come.

Carson finished with the boots and the colonel appeared almost normal, geared up in his uniform. Ronon went to Rodney's desk and picked up the new tac vest containing the bulletproof lining and made sure his team leader put it on.

Carson brought over the wheelchair and the military commander of Atlantis grudgingly settled into it. "Let's get this over with."

Ronon pulled out his weapon, the doors opened as the three exited and security escorted to them to the meeting.

* * *

They entered a spacious room with high ceilings and a large wooden table set up on the other side. The area was as large as the gate room with a wide open space barely filled with furniture. Ronon spotted several snipers in the rafters above and he knew a dozen Marines patrolled inside and two extra units were on stand by just outside in the halls.

"Maybe he won't even attack. I mean, this room is too well secured. It'd be bloody insane," Carson whispered as he wheeled the colonel towards the table.

"Voulsh won't be able to resist taking this chance; not striking now would be an affront to everything he stood for," Ronon commented, walking along Sheppard's side.

"Stood for? I didn't think murderers had principles," Carson growled.

"It's a different set of values," Ronon retorted.

He and Sheppard analyzed the same things, eyes scanning the weak spots of the room and where they'd set up an ambush if their roles were reversed. The three of them came through the western set of doors as Teyla came from the other entrance.

"You can park me right here," Sheppard instructed.

The physician rolled the chair to the far end of the rectangular table. Teyla strode over, carrying a long item in her hands.

"That mine?" the colonel asked, pointing to the cane.

Teyla handed it to him. "If you think you're able."

"They coming?" Sheppard asked.

"Right behind me," Teyla replied.

Sheppard placed one hand on the table while the other gripped the cane as he pulled himself to his feet shakily while Teyla held on to his elbow to help steady him. He acclimated to being upright before taking two steps away from the wheelchair.

"Colonel!" Carson exclaimed, unprepared for Sheppard's little plan.

The doors opened and the honored guests of the day arrived, closely followed by Colonel Caldwell, Rodney, and Elizabeth.

Carson moved to go after his patient but Ronon grabbed his shoulder. "Allow him these few minutes."

The physician reluctantly nodded and he walked by Sheppard's side with Teyla taking the other.

Six members of the Genii followed Ladon Radim as he passed the first end of the oak table. Sheppard straightened his back when the contingent entered and he walked using only the meager support of his cane to aid him. Ronon and Teyla flanked him on each side since the colonel no longer relied on the table for help.

Ladon and one member of his staff broke away from the group who huddled behind to give their encounter space. "Colonel Sheppard, I did not see you in the gate room. It's good to know you will be part of what I hope is a new beginning for our two peoples." The Genii leader held out his hand.

Sheppard shook it, the white of his bandaged arm a stark contrast against his black uniform. "It's what we wanted from the very beginning," he replied.

"Of course, and I hope to rectify that as well as any new problems that some of my people might have caused you." Ladon indicated the cane. "I hope you're doing well."

"Oh this?" Sheppard grinned. "Football is a rough sport."

"I see." Ladon turned to the man next to him. "This is Commander Pelmon, the head of my military."

"Nice to finally meet you, Colonel." Pelmon gripped Sheppard's hand in a larger, meatier one. "I've read much about you."

"All farfetched, I'm sure."

Pelmon was a short, beefy man that reminded Ronon of a beast of burden from back on his home world. A large, thick neck connected his sturdy frame to a shaved bald, square jawed head, making his age hard to tell. He grunted and resisted shaking hands with the two men when it came his turn. His radar was cast in a large area, seeking movement while giving each Genii a stern expression.

"This is Larkin Bzenin, one of my scientists." A pencil thin guy with thick glasses shook Sheppard's hand quickly and scurried away.

Finally the Genii leader turned to his left. "This is Ashlin Krops, my diplomatic advisor." The lean man with silver hair took the colonel's hand. "You're not as imposing looking as stories like to describe you."

Sheppard forced a smile. "Didn't know I was so popular."

Krops smoothed out a tan jacket that looked so heavily ironed with starch that it could have been store bought. "How could you not be?"

Elizabeth came up behind them all, her expression matching the ones on Caldwell's and McKay's faces in response to the absurdity of the colonel's prideful charade. "Shall we take a seat?"

Ladon pulled out a chair while the rest of his entourage found places to sit. "Yes, let's get started."

Sheppard hobbled heavily back, his steps slow and methodical. Sweat dripped from the back of his neck and Ronon stayed only a few inches away, just in case he needed help. He smiled despite himself when the colonel made it without assistance; the demonstration must have hurt, but he understood how much it meant to his team leader.

Ladon and Weir spoke about things like road maps and foundations while McKay concentrated on his computer, all his nervous glances at the lights in the ceiling a horrible giveaway to their plan. When the scientist wasn't sending a signal to anyone who'd notice his activities, he was casting worried looks at the colonel. Caldwell whispered into his head set, covering his speech with his hand to coordinate with the teams on full alert.

"I think setting up a way to communicate with Atlantis instead of sending a radio signal from another planet might be a good first step in creating stronger ties," Ladon suggested.

"That would require giving you a code specially set up for you, so as not to reveal our survival to others," Weir responded.

The whole talking thing went on and on and Ronon resisted the urge to get up and roam around. His place was next to Sheppard. Once Voulsh was flushed out, his CO's job was complete. The table they all sat around was made out of thick steel, the outer surface encased with wood, making it the perfect defensive cover if things went down as hoped.

Sheppard was giving the discussions a cursory listen, making eye contact enough for their guests to think he was paying attention. Ronon hated the waiting game; every minute that passed without incident, the more it grated on his nerves. The voices in the room would fade in and out, mutating into a constant static hum.

"We would find any refinements to our nuclear technology to be quite helpful in our current program." Larkin, the head scientist, continued.

"It could use it," Rodney cracked.

"And your help would be greatly appreciated," the man replied, pushing back his glasses. "If you would excuse me…" The advisor nodded. "I need to your use your facilities."

"One of our security will escort you to one," Caldwell replied from across the table, pressing his com piece.

Ronon's eyes narrowed at the little man while he rose from his seat. Larkin pushed back his chair just as his head flung back and an energy blast blew the front of his skull apart.

"Down! Everyone down!" Caldwell ordered.

Ronon shielded Sheppard with his body, shoving the colonel to the ground.

"Ronon!" Sheppard protested, one hand gripping his 9 mil and the other flailing around as the wheelchair tipped over.

"Don't move," Ronon ordered, shoving the colonel under the safety of the table and swinging around, using it for cover at the same time.

Ronon drew his weapon and aimed it in the direction of the attack, ignoring the shouts and protests from the Genii as he focused on locating the target.

"Now, McKay!" he shouted.

The room was thrown into darkness, the light fixtures casting an eerie glow on everyone. The ghostly illumination turned everything into dark shades of blue except for the shimmering form of a man standing at the far end. The sleek exoskeleton shined like aluminum under the change in spectrum.

"Fire on the suspect!" Caldwell ordered.

Ronon had already pulled the trigger of his blaster as every Marine shelled the glowing assassin with a hail of bullets.

* * *

Voulsh navigated inside the heart of Atlantis with ease, knowing all resources were being diverted for the ruse. He used Sheppard's own computer to locate where the talks were taking place.

He found a solider and stayed right behind him, matching every stride with his own and keeping perfectly in sync with him on his way to their mutual destination. He wouldn't have been able to use this technique in the bowels of the city, with full squadrons, but this served his purpose now.

Voulsh followed the dark skinned man past check points and intersections and, once inside the meeting room, he stuck close to the human until he spotted a corner to take a position in. He longed for the tactical advantage of the high ground, but there was no way to scale into the ceiling undetected since every security person wielded the device that would give away his movement. He settled for the element of surprise.

The meeting was already underway with everyone involved seated at the table. His cloaked suit would not give him away, concealing even his body temperature.

He pulled out his weapon and set it to kill. Sheppard was out in the open and he aimed right for the center of his forehead, knowing he'd never miss from this distance, his accuracy unquestionable. His finger tightened over the trigger, a part of him still unsatisfied with this mode of death.

It been a long battle and to finish it like this made his hand quake. Emotional reactions were a weakness, but the core values he swore to uphold kept him from applying the final squeeze.

The inside of his visor blipped at a spike in energy readings and he turned his attention to one of the Genii, his sensors indicating movement under the table. He had a difficult time honing in on the differential and adjusted the frequency to calibrate on the single area. The Genii was activating a combustible source.

No. He wouldn't allow another to interfere with what was rightfully his to execute.

"And your help would be greatly appreciated. If you would excuse me, I need to your use your facilities."

_Coward. _It was a sacrilege against everything he stood for. Voulsh switched his aim to the face of the dishonorable scum.

He pulled the trigger and wasted no time training his weapon back at Sheppard, but his target was forced out of sight, the runner once again denying him victory. A part of him flared in annoyance and the other was secretly glad for the denial.

He felt the impact of the projectiles and his vision was blinded by a washout of color from the lights above. Momentarily distracted, he was bombarded by 'Lantean weapons, his body armor barely able to protect him from the volume of ammunition.

Voulsh fired back blindly, pulling out his second weapon and using both against the onslaught as he dove to the ground. The strange lighting guided the 'Lanteans' fire right to him and he was knocked down by the sheer force of their weapons, a pain lancing through his shoulder. He went to his hands and knees in preparation for a run towards the table.

Despite the malfunction of his equipment from the frequency change, his visor warned him of a dangerous build up of energy and he covered his head, the room rocking from an explosion triggered by the scheming Genii.

* * *

Sheppard pulled out his Beretta just as Larkin's face disintegrated. Before he had time to aim at the shooter, Ronon's bulky body blocked his view and he was forced out of his chair and shoved to the ground, the wheelchair falling on top of him.

"Ronon!"

"Don't move!" the big Satedan ordered him.

Sheppard's leg exploded from being jostled, but it didn't matter, since he was unable to crawl anywhere with Ronon's legs blocking the way.

"Now, McKay!" Ronon's voice boomed.

Sheppard's eardrums vibrated from the fire of several P90s and other weapons eruptions. Members of the Genii shouted over the noise of the fight, but their voices were drowned out by the chaos around them. He could hear Caldwell over the roar of bullets while he tried to warn the others to keep their heads down.

He couldn't locate the rest of his team. The conference table had a specially designed wall built under it that ran all the way down the middle. He dragged his injured leg along the floor and looked up when he heard Ladon's voice from a few feet away. The leader of the Genii tried to yell something just as Sheppard was thrown back by a sudden concussive force. As he was trapped under the table, his body had no place to go, except get knocked around under it.

He didn't know how long he'd been out, guessing only a few seconds as his nostrils filled with the smell of smoke and burning materials. He had trouble getting his body to move, the feeling of disorientation making it hard to think. There was a rumble of confused voices; anger, shock, concern, all mixed into a jumble of sound.

"This was a set up!"

Sheppard used the fallen wheelchair to prop himself over, since there was no way he could stand. The ash and smoke irritated his eyes but he could tell the wall behind him was stained black from the blast. He looked to his left to see Ronon trying to get up after being knocked down by the blast, but Sheppard was too distracted by the commotion a few feet away.

"You tried to kill us!"

Sheppard recognized Pelmon's voice and made out the bullish man arguing with Elizabeth. He breathed a sigh of relief to see her unharmed, although a little worse for wear. He kept an eye on the irate Genii when he noticed both Ladon and Teyla lay on the ground unmoving just a few feet away.

"Teyla," he croaked.

Krops ran over to assess their condition. Sheppard noticed the blood on Ladon's face as the diplomat checked for a pulse. "He needs a doctor!"

"What about Teyla?" Sheppard asked.

Pelmon angrily rushed over to tend to his superior. The military man froze when he saw his leader motionless on the floor and his face screwed into a mask of fury. "Look what you've done! I knew we couldn't trust you!"

Sheppard should have recognized the short tempered reaction as the stout Genii pulled out a hidden gun and turned it on Elizabeth. He lifted his Beretta to fire, only to watch the commander's chest blossom in red wetness.

Ronon ran over, too late to disarm the man and they both watched Rodney step awkwardly over, his blue eyes appalled at what he had just done.

"Oh God," McKay muttered.

Ronon kicked the gun away from the injured Genii's hand and looked up at the shell-shocked physicist. "Nice shot."

"Elizabeth, you okay?" Sheppard asked, still struggling to get up.

"I'm fine," she assured him.

Sheppard's eyes went back to Teyla. Frustrated at his lack of mobility, he found his discarded cane and grabbed it.

"Carson!" Ronon hollered.

"No, don't worry." Elizabeth instructed, tapping her com piece. "This is Weir, we're going to Plan B."

Sheppard surveyed the destruction as the room disappeared when they were all beamed out.

* * *

It had all gone to Hell in a hand basket. Caldwell had been right to be cautious; the entire ruse had exploded in their faces. Literally.

Sheppard was furious; he'd put everyone that he had tried so hard to protect at risk ... it'd been foolish to use the alliance talks for a trap... that only worked in the movies. He'd drawn Voulsh's attention alright; the assassin tried to blown them all to kingdom come. Now there were more casualties, including Ladon and no one had informed him how Teyla was doing.

After their arrival in the infirmary and it was determined he wasn't bleeding, they had ushered him into the back where he could be _secured. _Sheppard rubbed at his temples, looking around at the supply area in disgust and tapping his cane in annoyance against the chair leg.

This was all his fault.

"How are you doing?"

He looked up at the concerned face of Elizabeth.

"Fine. How's Teyla?"

Elizabeth ran a hand through her disheveled hair. "Concussion, broken arm, but other than that, she'll be fine."

"Thank goodness," he breathed. "And Ladon?"

"Lacerations to his face, first degree burns to his shoulder and a mild head injury. Carson thinks he'll make a full recovery."

Sheppard sighed. "I guess we just set our negotiations back into the dark ages. Not only did we keep vital information away from the Genii, but we almost got their leader blown up and shot their military commander."

"Pelmon's critical, but Carson's hopeful. We'll know where we stand when Ladon wakes up. I'm sure he'll understand. After all, Voulsh is their Pandora's box."

Sheppard leaned back in his chair, the movement exacerbating the agony in his leg and all the aches he'd ignored while waiting. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You really should just let someone take a look at you, John. I know you're in pain."

Sheppard channeled the throbbing of his limb into his voice. "Later. Did we get him? Is Voulsh dead?"

"No." Elizabeth squeezed his arm. "During the chaos of the bomb, he escaped. Several Marines were hurt, but there were no casualties."

"How's Rodney?"

Elizabeth shook her head as he kept changing the subject. "He was shaken up, but oddly enough, Ronon's hung around him while waiting for news on Teyla."

_At least one thing was getting back to normal_, Sheppard thought.

"Look, John----"

"Ma'am."

They both looked at the sergeant who stood outside the room. "Colonel Caldwell needs to speak to you."

"Alright, tell him I'll be right there." Elizabeth turned back to him.

Sheppard waved her off. "Go. I'll be fine."

"We're not done. We'll figure something out," she said, trying to reassure him.

_Sure they would. _

Sheppardground his teeth together; the throbbing of his leg demanded attention and he used the fiery pain to focus.

When would this all end?

It wouldn't matter; Voulsh would keep trying until one of them was dead... it hit him like a punch to the gut. That was the answer, wasn't it?

He looked around, noticing for the first time where they had stashed him-- the supply room. Sheppard groaned when he forced himself up, using the wall for extra support, and hobbled over to one of the cabinets, his cane quaking in his vice grip.

He scanned each glass unit, spotting the desired items, and pulled out his gun, using the handle to break the glass. After double checking to see if the noise attracted the wrong type of attention, he rifled through the bottles until he found a small box. He cracked it open, pulling out the emergency morphine injectors used in the field. He stashed a few, leaving one out, and fished through the other shelves, locating the stimulants on the third one.

_You don't mess around with mixing such things._

"Don't have much of a choice," he muttered to himself.

Sheppard wasn't a complete moron, knowing that combining the two was a little like playing Russian roulette, but some stims were less evil than others and he smiled when he found the ephedrine.

_25mg per dose. Do not exceed 150 mg in a 24 hour period._

Sheppard stared at both auto injectors and chewed on his bottom lip. Before he could change his mind, he gimped towards the chair, undid his belt, pushed down his BDUs and exposed his thigh. The medicine hovered over his skin as he questioned his sanity.

When images of the pandemonium and destruction from earlier flashed in his mind, he slammed the morphine into the muscle. The warming sensation flooded his extremities and made his head feel three times too heavy.

He grabbed the other drug and stuck himself with the ephedrine without hesitation to counteract the inviting peace.

He waited until the numbness encompassed his thigh, wrapping it in a soft cast of cotton and molasses. The pulsating waves of pain quieted and his limb tingled with pins and needles. He rose carefully to his feet, the muscles already asleep from the narcotic, and he wavered when a wave of dizziness overcame him.

He placed one foot in front of the other, able to lean on his cane without falling over. He remembered that blending the two powerful drugs had the unusual side effect of enhancing analgesia and would use it for all its worth. _The things you can learn reading medical journals to pass the time away_, he mused.

With his leg blissfully unaware of the extra strain and weight, he limped heavily to the door. He opened it and walked as steadily as possible towards the two Marines guarding it.

Both men saluted. "Sir."

"I want you both to watch over the Genii we have inside the infirmary and make sure there are no retaliations for what happened today."

Sergeant Jones looked at his companion then back at his CO. "But, sir we're supposed..."

"That's an order. I'm meeting with Colonel Caldwell. He has another security escort waiting for me outside."

They considered him for a second and Sheppard raised his voice. "Now, gentlemen!"

"Yes, sir!"

The good thing about being thrown in the back of the infirmary, away from all the action, was that it was easier to slip away without being seen. Sheppard carefully inched his way from one corner to the other and bypassed the waiting area altogether. Getting around his personal guards was one thing, but leaving the infirmary would be another story.

* * *

Lying about capturing Voulsh and needing extra security in other areas of the city wasn't too much of a stretch. He reminded the two Marines standing outside the infirmary that all communications were still not being used and that Caldwell was expecting them. He waited for the men to leave before he hobbled his way towards the armory.

Staff Sergeant Riggs was a very large black man with tattoos adorning both bulging biceps. Despite legs the size of redwoods and a physical presence to rival even Ronon, Riggs had the best sense of humor. The guy could entertain them all with a one man stand up routine that left them in stitches. He was a big pussycat, except when guarding post.

"Colonel."

"At ease, Sergeant."

Sheppard knew how terrible he appeared, barely able to walk in a straight line. Beads of perspiration beaded along his forehead and he could feel damp spots under his arms and down his back. He was surprised that the burly Sergeant couldn't hear the jack-hammer of his heart.

Despite the fact that his leg felt like a gigantic slab of meat, Sheppard stumbled inside, cutting off Riggs's questioning protest with his other hand. "Just picking up a few items."

He had to keep things lightweight but grabbed two extra clips for his Berretta, snagging his P90 and a decent amount of C-4.

Sheppard still didn't allow Riggs to question anything when he exited. "We've secured Voulsh. I'm heading over there to get him to talk." Sheppard smiled, laying on the charm. "Still maintain radio silence until further instructed."

He saluted the big guy without giving him a moment to think as he made a very wobbly trek towards the transporter. He was relieved that he didn't have to go on foot towards his next destination; the tenderized mess of his leg had begun to protest more and more and he didn't know how much more stress he could place on it before it failed him.

They had to be onto him by now. He'd made one stop at a computer terminal to put in a few command codes for what he was planning. Sheppard glanced at his watch, trying to move as fast as his damaged body would allow. There was only so much speed he could manage, even if his thigh was doped up enough to turn off most of the nerve endings.

The jumper bay wasn't guarded, since Voulsh had his own ship and without the gene, stealing one was highly doubtful. Sheppard leaned on everything possible once he was inside the jumper and, by the time he reached the cockpit, his leg finally gave out. He grabbed the back of the seat and used it to haul his body onto the chair.

He panted and fought for breath as the control panel spun in front of him. He closed his eyes, willing the dizziness to pass and allow his body time to calm down.

_Easy, John._

He took a shuddering breath, skipped the checklist for take off and piloted the jumper towards the gate room. As soon as he was in the air, his radio began chirping.

Caldwell's angry voice filled the air. "_Colonel Sheppard! Is that you? What the hell are you doing? Return the jumper immediately_."

He ignored him, doing the same to Elizabeth when she was on the com a few minutes later. Even after Rodney's outraged voice exploded in his ear, he said nothing.

"_Can't you override him_?" he heard Elizabeth ask franticly.

"_No... Not in time!_" Rodney yelled in response.

Sheppard clicked on the radio, but not to answer his friends. He flew the jumper in front of the gate and dialed the number to the mainland.

"Voulsh. This is Sheppard. I'm tired of playing games, aren't you? If you want to finish this just you and me, I'll be waiting. Come and get me."

He clicked off the transmission and didn't heed the pleads from his friends to stop. Sheppard entered the 'gate, knowing that it would all end, one way or another. This time, on his terms.

* * *

_A/N: Again thank you everyone for your wonderful support, it means a lot!_


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N's Note: I made a technical error in chapter twelve. There's no gate on the mainland, Sheppard would just fly out the hanger. I edited this chapter to fix that mistake and later on will edit chapter twelve. Thanks to those who pointed it out privately._

* * *

Rodney was pure motion, his legs and hands all going a mile a minute. He hadn't felt this strung out or twitchy since the time he'd stayed up all night preparing to defend his doctoral thesis with three full pots of coffee coursing through his system and zero sleep for two days. Of course, there had been the time he'd had to rebuild a nuclear bomb in record time with the Wraith running around and one of Carson's artificial pick-me-ups fueling him onward. 

No, this was worse.

He made the twentieth circuit over the same piece of tile, despite his sore foot. "I'm dead. I'm so, so dead."

"You'll be fine," Ronon growled.

Rodney wagged his finger. "Oh, no. I almost killed the military commander of the freakin' Genii. The Genii!"

"He had it coming."

"Oh, thank you. I'm sure they won't hold a grunge after such a stellar argument in my defense."

"You saved Doctor Weir. He would have shot her if you had not intervened."

Teyla's soft voice had Rodney's attention, but it never stopped his need to wear away a path in the floor. "These people have very long memories."

The Athosian cradled her injured arm, her delicate fingers rubbing the fabric of the sling. "I am sure once things settle down, that they will understand the circumstances. They came to us seeking a new friendship."

Rodney paced past her bed on his way to complete another circle. "Then we neglected to inform them about our little plan to use the meeting as bait and almost blew up all of their leadership."

He pivoted around to begin another trek until an arm nearly clotheslined him.

"Stop pacing," Ronon ordered. Rodney huffed and puffed, but the runner gripped his shoulder to calm him. "You thought pretty good on your feet."

Rodney smiled nervously at the rare praise. "I did... didn't I?"

Teyla arched an eyebrow and gave Ronon a wry grin. "You should be proud," she said to Rodney.

His pride was short-lived though as the aftermath of the explosion settled in the pit of his stomach where he'd hid all his thoughts about shooting another human being. Genii or not… it wasn't something he ever wanted to do again. "I'm glad that we had the foresight to construct that reinforced table."

"We would have not let the colonel go out there unprotected," Teyla stated. She looked up at the both of them. "This is still not over."

Rodney stared at the floor, his guts twisting, while he rubbed at his temples wearily. His head pounded from the bombing and subsequent gun battles in such close quarters. "I thought maybe this time..." His voice trailed off at the failed plan.

The modifications to the lights had worked, but it hadn't mattered. The special equipment and software used to create the spectrum had been limited and they couldn't replace every single bulb in Atlantis. How many more times could they defend against an invisible monster?

Ronon walked over towards the wall and slammed his hand against it. "I hate waiting."

Teyla winced at the noise, her face betraying the pain she tried to conceal from the others. Ronon looked at her apologetically. She didn't say a word, accepting it with a nod. "They want all of us together for security reasons."

The Satedan bowed his head and looked towards the other end of the infirmary where Sheppard had been moved to. "I should check on---"

Ronon's sentence was cut off when the two Marines assigned to guard the colonel arrived in the room.

"Where are you guys going?" he rumbled.

The Marines paused; Sergeant Jones looked the runner in the eye. "We're going to watch over the Genii being treated."

Rodney joined his companion. "Um, don't you think you should be guarding someone? Maybe the guy in charge of the military with a big old neon flashing 'kill me' sign?"

Jones did an impersonation of a Puffin bird ruffling its feathers as he tried to act all important. "Colonel Sheppard ordered me to keep an eye on the Genii just in case one of them tried something.

Rodney glared at both grunts and looked over at Ronon whose nostrils were going to release a puff of steam at any moment. "Why the hell would he order something like that?"

The other Marine looked at his partner, the Marine's face betraying the anxiousness at staring down two irate expedition members. "Colonel Sheppard was very specific."

"Who's guarding him now?" Ronon demanded, stepping closer.

"No one. He said he was meeting with Colonel Caldwell and--"

Ronon took off towards the storage area, silencing Jones who was beginning to realize that this was possibly a very bad situation. Rodney's fingers hovered over his com, but then remembered he couldn't use it without alerting Voulsh. Instead of lashing out at the Marines with the anger that had begun to boil his blood, he wandered over to Teyla and placed a hand on her bed as she looked on with concern.

Ronon stalked back into the room, his face a portrait of rage. "He's gone."

Teyla grabbed Rodney's wrist, her expression mirroring his horror.

"Why...I mean...what the hell does he think he's doing?"

Sergeant Jones cleared his throat, his eyes darting back and forth between the parties. "You mean Colonel Caldwell didn't ---"

"No, he didn't!" Rodney seethed, cutting the sergeant off.

"Sheppard's going to try and finish this," Ronon stated.

"How? From his wheelchair?"

"He'll find a way."

"Sirs, what do we do?" the deflated Jones asked.

"You've done enough," Rodney seethed.

Teyla tried to get out of bed but struggled even before her feet touched the ground.

Rodney grabbed both shoulders and steadied her. "Whoa, you're not going anywhere."

She held on to his shoulder while she swayed. "We must tell the others."

Rodney pulled back the blankets as a hint for her to get back in bed. "And we will, but let Ronon and I do it. You're in no shape to move around."

She grudgingly slid back into bed, but gripped Rodney's bicep with surprising force. "Just stop whatever he's planning," Teyla pleaded.

The Athosian was one of the strongest people Rodney knew and he understood her frustration at not being able to help. He patted her arm awkwardly. "We will."

Ronon walked over and squeezed Teyla's shoulder. "We need to go."

She nodded. "You must hurry."

There was no need for her to reinforce the urgency that both men felt as they raced towards the control room.

* * *

He was going to steal some of Sheppard's happy juice after all this was said and done. Between placing constant weight on a foot he hadn't allowed to heal and the migraine from the explosion, Rodney felt he deserved it. Trying to keep up with Ronon had him out of breath and by the time they reached the control room, he knew there wasn't going to be time to regain it anytime soon. 

"Well I don't care, locate him now!" Caldwell yelled at some poor tech hunched over a console.

When the colonel spotted the duo, he directed his ire at them. "Do you know what the hell Sheppard is up to?"

"No, we were just about to tell you he left the infirmary. Why, what's going on?" Rodney didn't like where this was heading.

Caldwell looked at them with an accusing expression, his eyes twitching in anger. "Staff Sergeant Riggs just told me Colonel Sheppard left the armory after taking a P90 and some C-4."

Elizabeth hurried down the small steps of the platform. "If you know anything about what---"

"We have an unauthorized jumper launch," Chuck interrupted her.

"What?" Elizabeth spun around.

"Close the hangar doors!" Caldwell ordered.

"I can't," the tech replied.

Rodney was instantly at one of the control panels, bewildered by the impressive protocols set up to impede efforts to stop him that the pilot had placed.

Chuck looked up nervously. "Nothing is responding."

"Colonel Sheppard! Is that you? What the hell are you doing? Return the jumper immediately!" Caldwell yelled over the radio.

"John... This is Elizabeth. Whatever you're doing please stop. I told you we'd figure something out."

Rodney desperately tried to counteract the measures Sheppard had put in place, his temper and fear skyrocketing at his inability to stop a damn thing. "Colonel, enough with this heroic bullshit. This isn't noble, it's suicide!"

"Can't you override him?" Elizabeth asked, gripping the panel.

Rodney shook his head, performing every trick he knew to try to stop this madness. "No...Not in time. He's used his command clearance and it'll take me too long to hack his password."

A display grid showed the jumper exit out of the launch bay and begin its course outside the city. The control room collectively leaned forward when Sheppard's voice echoed over the city PA.

"_Voulsh. This is Sheppard. I'm tired of playing games, aren't you? So if you want to finish this just you and me, I'll be waiting. Come and get me."_

It was too late. With the colonel's computer skills and a few lessons gleaned from his own geek talk, Rodney couldn't shut anything down before the jumper disappeared.

Elizabeth stared dumbly at the panel before letting emotion get the better of her. "How did he steal a jumper without a single alarm?"

"Excuse me, but the last time I checked the colonel was still suffering from a severe injury and was practically immobile. Anyone care to explain to me how he got around?" Caldwell asked.

Elizabeth didn't waste time, getting down to business. "We can investigate the mystery behind his Houdini trick later. What are we going to do about it?"

"Does he really think it's going to work?"

It was Ronon's turn to give Rodney an impudent glare. "It will. Voulsh will follow and the danger he posed to Atlantis will go with him."

"And Sheppard will do what? Hit the guy with his cane?" Rodney barbed.

"_Elizabeth, this is Beckett."_

"What is it, Carson? We're in the middle of a very serious situation at the moment."

"_Aye, but I need you to come down here. There's something I need to show you."_

The doctor's words made everyone shift uncomfortably about the possibility of more bad news.

"Sheppard's...we've got an issue with the colonel that needs to be---"

"_So do I, Elizabeth, something urgent. I wouldn't ask if I didn't..."_

"Alright. We'll all meet you there."

Rodney visibly slumped at the prospect of another hurried journey down the halls.

"I want a plan in place by the time we get over there," Elizabeth ordered.

No one dared to question how impossible that was going to be. Putting together whirl-wind, half-assed plans under pressure was just another day in Atlantis.

* * *

Colonel Caldwell was a man of action; while they hightailed it to the infirmary he was already redeploying men across the city and ordering a large security team to get assembled in the gate room. They hustled inside, the two Marines from earlier at attention with their arrival. He ignored the duo, furious at how easily they'd been duped, but ignored things since there would be time for repercussions later. 

Beckett meet them halfway and hurried them over towards the storage room where Sheppard had been hidden away.

He stared at the physician for answers. "We've got a man to rescue, so why don't you make things quick."

Beckett walked over to a broken glass cabinet and waved his hand at the destruction.

Elizabeth looked at the physician in confusion. "I don't understand."

"I did an inventory once I realized it had been broken into. I think the colonel took some things out of here."

McKay peered at the busted out glass, snapping his fingers. "He grabbed morphine, right?"

Beckett stared at the group. "Aye, he took several ampoules."

"Wouldn't morphine knock John out?" Elizabeth asked.

"It would. But there are also several dosages of ephedrine missing."

"What? There's no way Sheppard would mix morphine with a stimulant... it's ludicrous. He may be crazy, but he's not suicidal," Rodney assailed.

Caldwell studied the grim expression of the physician and he put two and two together. "Could it work? Would the ephedrine somehow counteract the morphine?"

"Maybe. The morphine acts on the central nervous system to relieve pain and, in high doses, sedate people. Mixin' it with a stimulant might even enhance its properties, but the effects on the colonel's heart rate and blood pressure...it's bloody dangerous, if not deadly."

Caldwell had enough. "All the more reason to track him down and--"

"No. Let me go after Sheppard," Ronon urged.

"I'm deploying Lorne and a full unit of Marines to grab the colonel and hopefully once and for all kill this bastard before he has a chance to hurt anyone else."

"It won't solve anything. Voulsh has only one goal. He wants to kill Sheppard, but he'll cut down anyone in his way. Sending out a bunch of our guys will only create more casualties or send Voulsh into hiding until he strikes again," Ronon argued.

"The guy isn't invincible and the more we delay, the less time Colonel Sheppard has," Caldwell fired back.

"The best chance for Sheppard to live is to allow his willingnesses to put himself at risk to mean something. He'll draw Voulsh out with no gamble to anyone else. I'll go and back him up. End it now."

"Oh, for crying out loud, why don't you and Sheppard go start a club? It's bad enough that he went off and stole a jumper because we don't have a white stallion for him to ride around on, but you want to go and be his side kick."

Rodney continued his tirade of protests that the runner greeted with stony silence and a heated glare. Elizabeth tried to calm the irate scientist down, the wrangling for verbal dominance a backdrop to Caldwell's own internal struggle. The mainland presented itself with a new battery of problems, the biggest being wide open space with miles and miles for this assassin to hide and wait.

Cat and mouse. Voulsh had proven time and again who held the upper hand in that game, but it was his duty to protect the colonel, even from his own brash foolishness. He kept his face neutral and looked Ronon in the eye while Beckett joined in the fray of arguing.

The runner meet his gaze head on and dared Caldwell to trust in his judgment. Overwhelming, brutal force won many wars. Their Marines were the best, but this battle was different; had been from the get go.

"What do you suggest?" Caldwell asked.

Ronon's eyes brightened. "I go in, find Sheppard and we kill Voulsh. I know how Sheppard thinks and I can find him in time. I'm sure he has a plan and I'll just make sure it works."

It wasn't exactly a the full blown tactical design he had hoped for, but Caldwell nodded. "Alright."

"Are you out of your mind?" Rodney snapped. "Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"

Elizabeth stared at him incredulously. "Colonel?"

"We don't have a lot of time. I'll have a team on stand by to back you up," Caldwell instructed.

Ronon looked at Rodney. "Are you going to complain or fly the jumper there?"

That question flustered the physicist but he crossed his arms and nodded. "I'll fly."

"I'm goin' with ya...we have no idea what shape he'll be in when you find him," Beckett volunteered.

"Fine, you can come too, but you'll follow my lead. Let's go." Ronon took off without looking back.

Caldwell knew he was about to face Elizabeth's wrath about his decision, but the fact that she didn't fight him on it let him know that deep down, she knew it'd been the right call.

Sergeant Jones walked over hesitantly. "Excuse me, Dr. Weir?"

"Yes?" Elizabeth answered.

"Dr. Biro wanted me to inform you that Ladon Radim is awake and wishes to speak to you."

Elizabeth looked at him before her mask of stoicism slipped back into place. "Why, of course. Inform him I'll be right there."

It looked like their guests wanted a few answers and, for once, Caldwell was glad that Elizabeth bore the burden as leader of the expedition.

* * *

Sheppard knew exactly where he wanted to go, the canopy of treetops a blur of greens and browns. This section of the planet was covered in woods leading to the foothills, an area he'd camped out in once when he'd searched for a place for a survival exercise last year. It was the perfect spot for what he had in mind and he slowed his trajectory until he spotted the rockier land east of the mountainside. 

The area was filled with groups of large oak-looking trees that reached into the heavens like skyscrapers. It was a densely populated area except for a few tiny clearings that would've been suicidal to land in. This left very little choice in parking spots except for a hidden patch between two ancient, towering trees.

The branches could easily snarl the jumper, but he expertly landed it just before the ascending terrain. Sheppard had aced parallel parking in Driver's Ed the first time and this was like squeezing an SUV into the space between two compact cars along a narrow alleyway.

No one else had the skills to pilot the jumper into such a confined space. He let go of the controls and stared at his hand when it trembled.

"Gotta go for decaf next time," he mumbled to himself.

Sheppard used the console to brace himself and stood up slowly, the muscles in his thigh quivering slightly. He clipped his P90 to his vest, patting down the pockets to double-check the extra ordnance. There was no telling how much time it would take for Voulsh to catch up, so he grabbed his cane and dragged his carcass out of the jumper and into the daylight.

Sunspots lashed out at his retinas, the world grew stark white around him and he swayed from the ultra brightness. The head rush was unexpected and he slapped a hand against the bulkhead of the jumper to keep from sliding down to the ground. He took long, deep breaths to gain his equilibrium and opened his lids, the fuzzy glimmer reverting back to the recognizable shape of the woods. There was no need to cloak the craft since he needed it to be a road sign for his would-be assassin to follow.

He pushed off from the jumper, his cane wobbling insecurely in his grip since the hickory stick wasn't meant to take on the full burden of all his weight. He parked his ride as close to this location as he could, knowing he couldn't handle a long trek.

After hobbling for several feet he was forced to hold onto his cane with both hands, his weapon dangling from his vest. He took one tedious step at a time, the narcotics flowing through his system making him feel like a battery hooked up to a massive alternator. Despite all the fun volts pumping up his system, he found his ability to keep his body upright increasingly difficult. He limped heavily, trying to avoid clumps of shrubbery and dense overgrowth. The 'path' merged with rockier soil, his boots crunching over silt and rock as he got closer to the group of large boulders ahead of him.

He tried to ignore the nagging little voice in his head that sounded a lot like Rodney and all of its belligerent insults over what a crazy stunt this was. He could barely walk, wasn't in shape to defend himself against any type of hand to hand and it was beginning to get difficult to concentrate.

This was the right thing to do but this tête-à-tête needed to be over with as quickly as possible. Sheppard knew his team wouldn't sit idly by as he threw himself to the wolves and deep down he hoped that it took them too long to put a plan in action. He didn't want to cause them grief needlessly and prayed that they would forgive him, since they were the very reason he had to do this.

From a tactical standpoint he gave himself a small percentage chance in his weakened state, but enemies had often overestimated his chances before. This time, he relied more heavily on luck, surprise and a good deal of C-4 for any kind of advantage.

His weight began to tilt forward as his left leg crumpled from too much pressure, the cane slipping out from under him with the momentum. He fell, every bone in his body shuddering with the impact, from his wrists, down his elbows and painfully to his knees.

"Good one, John!" he yelled, landing on his P90.

He breathed in dirt and his ears filled with the rapid snare drum of his heart. He could feel the blood pound away in his veins and a buzzing accompanied the wailing thumping.

Sweat ran trails down his face and he coughed after swallowing a mixture of grit and soil. Time was running out and he still had things to take care of if he stood a chance.

_Get your sorry ass in gear._

He was on his hands and knees and moved his right boot until it gained purchase on the loose dirt. Then he stabbed the rubber end of the cane into the ground and hauled himself up, his good leg taking the brunt of his weight. He wrestled with his walking stick, his arms shaking as he pitched his body up, dragging his useless left leg with him. He grunted but got back to his feet, listing sideways until he was standing once again.

Just a few more meters and he could begin setting up his last stand and lean on a nice steady hunk of rock. The sun beat down on his back and he gimped over, one agonizing hobble at a time. He knew the odds were slim to none of winning, but going out fighting was better than waiting for death.

If the assassin wanted honor so badly, he'd take the asshole down in a blaze of glory and show him how overrated it really was.

* * *

It took more time than he wanted to make his way back to his ship. The brief seconds after the explosion were not enough to finish off Sheppard. Too many bullets, too many people in his way, all fighting to prevent what was rightfully his to fulfill. He fought his way out in the midst of the confusion, away from the glare that illuminated his presence. 

He'd almost allowed anger to overpower his carefully controlled state of mind.

This job had cracked his training; after so many years of hunting, emotion clouded his judgment. He had felt outrage at the loss of control, at another chance stolen from him. A profound darkness descended over his heart as heavy as the pain that wracked his body from the shelling of the projectile weapons.

He deserved death, he deserved shame from his multiple failures. It was one thing to be beaten in combat, to be killed by another hand. Any enemy capable of defeating one of their kind earned respect. He didn't fear death, but to die while his goal was left unfulfilled, that he could not stand.

His Master's words filled his mind. _"What are the Rashakash without duty? He is an empty soul in search of meaning. Our hearts beat only as servitude to our destiny."_

It'd been ironic that Sheppard's voice had brought him back from the brink. Voulsh's pulse thrummed with renewed vigor at the challenge. The colonel was truly a fellow warrior--- this was a genuine showdown. The 'Lantean wanted this battle as much as he did.

He guided his craft away from Atlantis and towards the final confrontation. He hadn't felt this enthralled in a long time; maybe this was the way it was supposed to end. He could not decide which way he would kill Sheppard and, clutching the metal trophy piece around his neck, he wondered what he'd take this time to commemorate the encounter.


	14. Chapter 14

Elizabeth had never raked it in at any of the poker tables during game nights. She was competent at the mechanics of card playing, but never cared for all the fake posturing since wearing a mask was part of the duties of her day job. Over the past week she had used her poker face so many times, it felt permanently chiseled in place.

She approached Ladon's bed; his advisor, Ashlin Krops, sat in a chair next to the leader. The silver haired diplomat didn't conceal his displeasure at her presence, whispering to the occupant of the bed of her arrival.

Krops rose to his feet as he flattened his once impeccable uniform now sullied by smoke and debris. "Dr. Weir, I've already expressed to Ladon my opinion about this meeting, but despite the dismissal of my counsel, I will remain."

"I understand," she addressed the older man. Elizabeth looked over at the Genii leader. "How are you feeling?"

Ladon's face was swollen, a tiny row of butterfly stitches dashed down the right side of his face, meeting part of his beard that had been singed. The tops of his shoulders were wrapped in bandages and peeked out from his hospital gown. Despite pain killers, his eyes were clear as they stared right at her.

"Your people are taking good care of me, Dr. Weir."

Elizabeth nodded. "Your security men have been given a clean bill of health by Dr. Beckett. I did not know if you wished them to stay or not, but they are in our waiting area."

"Under guard," Krops added.

"After what happened, we're worried about their security as well as---"

"--To suggest that we had anything to do with what---"

"--Enough!" Ladon snapped.

The agitated diplomat curled his fingers around his leather belt and adjusted it over the middle age pudge that hung over it. "We should demand an explanation for this reprehensible behavior."

"And you shall have one," Elizabeth said, cutting off a further tirade.

Ladon sat up further in bed, grimacing. "Let Dr. Weir talk."

She politely acknowledged the Genii for allowing her to explain without interruption, but she gleaned something else from Ladon's battered face. He knew something.

"This meeting was very important to our people, we have stepped on the wrong foot, time and again. Building an alliance between us is a high priority for this expedition, but I confess we did keep something from you."

"Voulsh," the Genii leader said, breathing out heavily.

There was no denying it anymore. "Yes," Elizabeth replied.

"The whole negotiation was a lure; it seems your deceit knows no bounds," Krops growled.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Maybe we should have warned you of the possible danger, but we still have no idea who in your ranks were involved in hiring Voulsh. We had a chance to flush him out and we took it."

"It was a commendable effort. Was it Sheppard's idea?" Ladon inquired.

"It was. He didn't want any more casualties on his hands."

Ladon's eyes fell at her words, the underhanded tactic working. "How many deaths have you suffered from Voulsh's attempts?"

"Two Marines were killed yesterday when he attempted to make his way into the city. He's tried to kill Colonel Sheppard just as many times."

"Then this is a disaster of our own making," Ladon confessed.

"Sir," Krops implored.

"No, Ashlin, we only have our own sins to blame for this." Ladon looked up at her. "We should have contacted you as soon as we got wind of the assassination plot. I'd be lying if those in my inner circle thought it would only serve us in the long run if Colonel Sheppard was no longer part of any equation. That was wrong." The Genii closed his eyes and grit his teeth against a wave of pain.

Ladon took a shuddering breath, but held out his hand to stop any of her concern. "Dr. Weir, believe me when I say-- that I only had the best intention of waiting until my intel was proven accurate. I did not want to approach you with wild rumors."

"I understand. I'm also very sorry for the loss of your scientist and the injury to your military commander. A full investigation is underway."

"What are you doing to stop Voulsh?" Krops asked, crossing his arms. "He has Genii blood on his hands."

Elizabeth allowed her mask to falter just a little. "We believe him to be out on the mainland."

Ladon picked up on the slip right away. "No member of the _Rashakash_ would abandon his mission unless it was completed."

She owed them an explanation, but not a window into her vulnerable side. "There is a plan in place that will not put anyone in this expedition or their guests in jeopardy any more."

Ladon seemed regretful. "Colonel Sheppard is protecting his city by the only means at his disposal. I always did admire his brashness." His eyes were getting heavy. "When do you expect us to be able to leave? With everything that has happened, I want to ensure that my people know I'm alive and well."

"When Dr. Beckett says it's safe for you to be transported and I'm assured that security is restored."

"Very well." The Genii nestled deeper amongst his pillows. When he spoke again his was voice groggy. "Please keep me informed of any developments about the bombing..."

"Of course," she smiled politely.

"I wish the colonel success."

"Thank you." Elizabeth locked eyes with Krops; the stout man's expression remained steely.

"Suffice it to say, Dr. Weir, that I am still unconvinced of your people's intentions during your ploy earlier. I think whatever the outcome on the mainland, we will have to revisit the ramifications of the artifice."

She cocked her head to one side. "I look forward to discussing all of the deceptions of the past few days. Hopefully by then, we can learn to be more open with each other and avoid any future missteps that come back to bite us in the end."

* * *

Elizabeth was pleased with the outcome of her meeting with Radim. She wasn't sure how many more fires she would need to put out during this harrowing day. There had been no word from the small team sent out to find John and she still couldn't get over the fact that both she and Caldwell had allowed them to go alone. There was just something about the colonel's team, that indestructible bond that held them all together and constructed the backbone of their resolve. 

Her little voice had rarely ever let her down and it begged her to trust Ronon's instincts. Right now there was member of the group that needed her and for once, she could feel effectual.

Elizabeth didn't need to hide under a neutral expression around Teyla; she would see right through it and shedding that burden was a relief. She approached the Athosian's bedside, her body a reflection of peace, but her eyes burning with the tenseness within.

"Any word?"

It was scary and amazing how close they had all become. With the others gone, Teyla surely felt physically disconnected and the past week had been a relentless trial in failure for them all. One by one they dealt with inadequacy in their own ways; the differences in coping mechanisms were as vast as the differences among their personalities.

"It's only been an hour since they left and radio silence is a must, if we're to keep Voulsh from knowing that backup has been sent."

"He must know we would go after John."

Elizabeth pulled up the plastic chair and rested her hands over the railing. "Ronon believes at this point, Voulsh is so determined to kill... that he's blinded by anything else."

Teyla frowned. "I think someone intelligent enough to avoid our people for a week and who has studied our ways would know we would not leave the colonel behind."

"Obsessions have a way of twisting our perceptions." Elizabeth stared at her hands. "It's conceivable that Voulsh thinks he knows John by now. And believes that the colonel would do this...meet him face to face without interference to keep the rest of us safe. That he'd make it happen somehow."

"Ronon thinks that Voulsh admires the colonel in some twisted way, doesn't he?"

Elizabeth wasn't sure anymore, analyzing societies that prized murder as a lifestyle was beyond her armchair psychiatry. "I don't know. I think more innocent people would have been killed during his vendetta than John could ever live with. You can't fight a person who will accept only death before achieving his goal. We all know Sheppard would do anything in his power to prevent any more bloodshed."

"I can't believe that John thinks we would ever allow him to face this evil alone." Teyla glared at her broken arm, her voice quivering. "I'm glad Ronon and Rodney will be there to show him otherwise. That we will always be by his side."

Elizabeth could feel her eyes well up, just as Teyla brushed away the moisture that dripped down from the corner of her eye. "He'll know... And they're going to bring him home safely."

Teyla pushed back the waves of hair that drifted over her face and stuck to her tear-stained cheeks. "Not being able to go with them...I have a greater clarity of what drove John to do this."

"Doesn't mean we have to like it," Elizabeth retorted, taking her friend's hand.

Teyla allowed a wan smile. "No."

"Dr. Weir?"

Elizabeth turned to see Lorne and Zelenka waiting for her apprehensively. She knew the major had been especially agitated at not being allowed to go after Sheppard and was one of the first to report to the Gate Room on standby.

"What is it, Major?'

Zelenka stepped forward, holding onto a data pad and looking back and forth between them. "I have a preliminary report on the makeup of the bomb."

"So soon?"

"Well, it was a low level explosion, really, and we had more than enough material to work with," the Czech replied, pushing up his glasses.

Lorne shot the scientist an impatient glare. "Just tell her what you told me."

Zelenka fiddled with his PDA. "It was what _wasn't _there to begin with."

She raised an eyebrow and Lorne seemed to be losing his patience. "The bomb wasn't made up of any alien substances."

"Okay, and that tells us ..."

"It wasn't sophisticated enough and nothing compared to the technology level exhibited by the assassin," Zelenka expressed earnestly.

Teyla tried to ease closer to the edge of the bed rail to listen in and Elizabeth could sense the foreboding that the Athosian was attuned to.

"Go on."

"Voulsh didn't make that bomb," Lorne said, obviously tired of beating about the bush.

Now it was Elizabeth's turned to feel testy. "Then who did?"

Zelenka swallowed. "Based on previous samples and the fact that the bomb was faulty to begin with, I compared it to some of the Genii tech we have stored."

"It was a match?" Elizabeth asked incredulously.

The Czech nodded grimly. "Yes, 100."

* * *

Rodney clenched the Berretta after checking the safety, amazed at the light weightiness of a weapon that could tear a hole in a man's chest and shred everything in its path. Its very existence, like all guns, was to take a life in the most brutal way possible. Slipping it back into the holster around his leg, he actually wished for something deadlier. 

Carson piloted the jumper since he was the calmest between them. Rodney alternated between bouts of sheer terror over their little operation and seething anger. He wiped at his forehead as a drop of sweat dribbled down one side of his face.

"This is the stupidest plan! We should have brought Lorne and his team."

"We don't need any more dead. This is better," Ronon said in an eerily calm voice.

"Define better? If the Boba Fett of the Pegasus Galaxy can elude all our search teams for days and get by all our extra security, only to try to blow up 'our' own trap---then we're going to need more than your blaster and my 9 mil."

"You're not comin' with me."

"What? Of course I am...that's the reason you asked me to--"

"Gonna need you to fly us back. I think Sheppard is going to need the Doc afterwards."

Rodney couldn't believe his ears. "I'm capable of firing a gun and you're going to need as much back up as possible."

Ronon rested his elbows on his knees with his arms hanging down and that scary cool, steely expression intimidating the hell out of him.

"I can be invisible, can you?"

"Well..."

"You have an injured foot and you're wound up too tight. You want to get yourself killed, or worse yet, lead Voulsh right to Sheppard?"

Carson's voice drifted over from the cockpit. "He's right, Rodney. We're not trained to go after assassins and we have no idea what the colonel is up to. For all we know, he's got some harebrained trap set up that we're bound to fall right into."

"I think some of us should just concentrate on flying!" Rodney lashed out.

"And I think we should listen to the expert," the agitated Scot retorted.

"If you mean an expert in recklessness, cave man behavior and a death wish, then you're right." Rodney seethed, fighting the urge to pace inside the cramped jumper. "Of course it makes sense that you can track Sheppard; you two obviously share a lot in common."

It hurt a little... knowing that he would be a hindrance, his many areas of expertise unable to do a damn lick of good in what was purely a combat situation. No...more like a deadly game of hide and seek. This was the last act of a sick little production, everyone could feel it. One way or another, someone was going to die in the final act .

Sheppard. Voulsh. Ronon. Or worse, all of them could succumb to a Shakespearian tragedy.

"I've located the colonel's jumper." Carson's news made him check the view screen. "And his life sign is several feet east of its location near the mountainside."

The runner studied the scenery below them. "Don't see anywhere to land."

"Yeah, there's no bloody way I can find a good spot."

Rodney pointed to the flashing dot that signaled where the missing colonel was located. "What? He's right there."

"Aye... how the hell am I supposed to get near him? There's no clearing anywhere close. I'm not even sure how the blazes the colonel squeezed the jumper there...it doesn't seem possible."

"Just do your best. I'm sure that was the reason he parked the damn thing in plain sight."

Ronon scrutinized the snarled tree line and the rougher terrain. "He's trying to flush Voulsh towards him where he'll use the foothills as cover."

"I still have no idea how's he getting around, even with the pain killer and the stimulant. There's no way he can be very mobile- morphine can only do so much," Carson fretted.

"Just land," Ronon instructed.

Rodney didn't hear the litany of rarely used curses under Carson's breath, but at least the physician had something to do; he had nothing to occupy his frantic mind. Ronon patted down what passed for his uniform, making sure every knife and other hidden weapons were in place.

The jumper lowered towards a grassy area and, doing the math in his head, Rodney knew that Ronon would have quite a hike to make.

"Did we ever teach you Morse code? Because maybe you could flip your radio off and on to signal us about what's happening," he suggested.

"I'll radio you when Voulsh is dead."

Rodney didn't like the sound of that, but refrained from adding his usual commentary. "Just don't bring him back on his shield."

Ronon pulled out his blaster. "Keep the jumper cloaked. I'll be back."

Rodney resisted making a smart assed remark; that was Sheppard's department to make every corny movie joke and reference that came to mind. Carson made his way next to him and the two stared silently as the runner exited the ship and sprinted off into the forest.

Carson went to one of the compartments and rummaged through a medical kit. "Guess I'll take an inventory."

"I'll keep an eye on their signals and we can follow what's happening from the screen," Rodney suggested.

"We'll know when Ronon finds him, but what about the assassin?"

Rodney watched in fascination as the moving white dot that was Ronon began his journey to catch up with the colonel. "When both dots begin heading back, then I guess the coast is clear."

He didn't want to mention the possibility that one or both dots might simply vanish from the screen. "Ronon's about one kilometer away."

"Then it shouldn't take long… Right?"

Rodney didn't think his friend could say anything more ominous.

* * *

In 1994 Sheppard had been asked to test pilot one of the V-22 Ospreys that were under consideration for a remodel for use in the Air Force. The bird was developed for the Marines and the early evaluations of the aircraft had produced mixed results. The higher ups wanted the tilt rotor craft for long range special operations. He'd been the envy of many other test pilots and even ridiculed for trying to show off. 

The Osprey had been grounded after killing all eleven of its crew the year before, but Congress couldn't let their shiny new toy just gather dust in a warehouse. What airman could resist a three-bladed prop rotor, that took off like a chopper and, once airborne, the blades rotated forward 90 degrees in as little as twelve seconds for flight.

He'd been mostly a chopper pilot; everything from Blackbirds to Apaches, yet he didn't let rotors dictate what took him up in the air. With experience flying F-16s and Hornets under his belt, he'd been the perfect candidate or gullible fool to try the CV-22 version of the Osprey. The night before his initial run he threw up all his dinner; the morning of the flight, his breakfast followed.

Who wouldn't be scared shitless of such a high speed craft that could 'transform' in the air? The damn thing was born to go fast and the fact that some of his buddies were making wagers on his success only fueled his desire to show what the lady could do.

That had been the day that John Sheppard got too much attention from people who liked to wear their chest candy every chance they got during medal ceremonies. The successful flight had been one of the craziest rides of his life and that night he'd been asked to join an elite group of special operations pilots. The Air Force jumped at the chance to capture his reckless bravado in the air and train him how to operate on the ground as well.

Evacs, recon, secret missions; they all fed the adrenaline junkie in him and leeched away, little by little, all of his respect for following the rule book to the letter. It was tough to stomach all the red tape involved in the decision making for rescue missions; he'd be recruited for his expertise, yet stonewalled every other mission over protocol and statistics for success. Maybe his destiny had been carved in stone; no matter how hard he tried to take care of his people and safeguard those around him, many ended up in body bags.

Not today... not again.

He was in control of his fate and would make sure that no one else paid for his sins. The day he flew that Osprey marked the beginning of his current journey.

He watched some of the gung ho black ops guys and the Die Hard trilogy enough to hold off a whole company of Genii. Mensa or not, he adapted to situations real quick, scaring those around him enough times at how easily he assimilated in a given situation.

It was funny how reminiscing brought back such vivid memories; he felt very much like he did on that tarmac, heading towards the cockpit of his very own Voltron. Right now, he was firing on all cylinders, part of him numb to everything around him and the rest, ready to throw up at any moment.

He pulled out the C-4 and concealed the explosive in the space between two large boulders that made up the groundwork of the mountain. An explosion would more than likely bring down hundreds of pounds of heavy earth on anyone near it. Knowing his would-be assassin's tenacity, he didn't want to count on the damage from the actual _kaboom_ to kill the bastard.

He still needed to lure Ugly close enough to face any lethal blast, but he was also still making things up as he went along. The bottom of the mountain was made of slabs of smooth stone, much like the area in Arizona where he'd been stationed for a short period of time to participate in desert survival. The area was perfect for novice climbers since the mountain didn't have a sharp ascent.

There was a niche carved out along the side where he could hide; the wall of granite could protect him from behind and the area in front was perfect cover. He could rest his P90 over one of the boulders and take easy pot shots. He had a ribbon for marksmanship, which wouldn't do any good against bullet proof exoskeletons, but this was all part of his fly by the seat of his pants plan.

He hobbled over to another section of rock to place more of the explosive, but his strength was being drained by the sun and his eyes burned from salty perspiration that rolled down his face. The air seemed thinner than he remembered and he was panting like he'd run a marathon in the Sahara. He used the sleeve of his black t-shirt to soak up the sweat of his brow and ignored the feeling of lightheadedness. The ground shimmered with specks of dirt reflecting the sunlight and every step he took became more languid and difficult. For a moment, he forgot what he was going to do and had to remind himself to plant the C-4 in another crevice along the wall.

The detonator shook as he tried to apply it to the plastic goop and it took two tries to plant it where it needed to go. He could feel a tremor build in his leg and knew it was about to give up the ghost. Limping had grown nearly impossible and in the past few minutes his pain tolerance had become paper thin. He needed to get off his feet before gravity pulled him down and he was unable to get back up again.

He recognized the sound of a ship, the invisible craft circling for a place to touch down. It could have been a jumper; it had the same pitch and tone, but he wasn't sure. It headed west to land, giving him enough time to reach his fox hole. This time he couldn't suppress the groan that escaped, adrenaline forcing him the few feet around the wall of rock that jutted out.

His knee buckled and Sheppard braced for the next fall as his body landed painfully on the heated stone, every muscle screaming out from fatigue. He lay there for what seemed forever, the sky spinning above and his head ready to explode.

_Morphine's not what it used to be, _he thought.

He had no choice but to crawl the rest of the way behind the safety of the rock, sliding his cane across the canyon floor in front of him. It took every ounce of energy to get upright again and he leaned over the boulder with his P-90 propped on top. His ears perked up at the sound of a second ship overhead, doing the same song and dance as it searched for a place to touch down.

"Damn it!"

One of them had to be his friends and the other belonged to Voulsh. He didn't know who was who and secretly hoped the Hunter would live up to his reputation and find him first.

* * *

_Thanks for holding on—I know while many have been excited about the confrontations coming up, there were several aspects of the story that needed to be covered including plot points that still required development and certain characters that needed to get somewhere at the pace set by the whole fic. As always thank you very much for the support._

_For those interested a link with a picture of the V-22 Osprey is located at my bio since I found the idea that Sheppard once flew one to be fascinating. _


	15. Chapter 15

_I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my brother and I found all three. ---Author Unknown_

* * *

Ronon made steady progress through the forest; the only thing impeding a faster pace was keeping an eye out for Voulsh. Deep within his soul, where instinct and impulse collided, his internal guidance system knew he'd gotten there before the assassin. He forged through the brush harder, knowing that time was an enemy he couldn't overcome, but distance was just a physical obstacle.

The jumper loomed several clicks ahead, the metallic ship clashing with the natural hues of the trees and earth surrounding it. The Doc was right; it was as if Sheppard had carved out the perfect space for the ship to fit between two large trees that swallowed up the sky. The soil outside the jumper was disturbed by his team leader's tracks. Normally he'd be pissed at the sloppy trail of boot prints and the third mark made by the cane, but he knew that the colonel wanted to be caught.

Ronon followed the progress that led towards higher ground with his blaster at ready. The tracks were clumsy; he knew that Sheppard had to be hurting, the drag marks and uneven gait of the trail left made his craw twist in knots.

His ears were attuned to the vibrations all around him; air fluctuations, insects buzzing, the ebb and flow of energy. There was no good way to stay hidden, but he kept towards the canyon wall, eyes alert for any sudden movement as he made his way towards his objective.

Sheppard had picked the best strategic location available; unless he came over the mountain, there was no way to sneak up and ambush him. Despite not being the most physically imposing commander, his friend made up what he lacked in brawn with his mind. The vegetation beneath Ronon's feet thinned to the hardness of heat fused solid rock, his eyes squinting in the sunlight as he looked for his friend's position.

He put himself in the man's shoes and searched for cover that could offer up the needed protection without having to scale higher. His eyes stared straight away, filtering out all natural tones until he spotted the black color of an Atlantis uniform. The sleeves peeked out over a boulder, the barrel of a P90 resting in the L shape of the rock.

Ronon cawed a low bird noise that the colonel answered with a call of his own.

He listened to the air before he ventured; a breeze rustled his braids, but nothing caused his blood to race through his veins. Without painting a picture for Voulsh to trace, he made his way over towards his friend, ducking behind the group of boulders.

Sheppard's voice was furious and strained, his eyes large, the pupils tiny within a stormy ocean. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same question, but we both know the answer. Why don't we skip the argument and get straight to the killing?"

The weather outside was a little on the humid side, but it wasn't sweltering and the wind was refreshing. His team leader's hair was laden with sweat, trails dripped down his face, the front and sides of his shirt were soaked and his complexion was flushed. Sheppard's body was sprawled over the rock he leaned on undoubtedly because he wasn't able to stand anymore… or hide the way his hands trembled occasionally.

"You look like crap."

"Thanks...I feel like it, too."

Ronon crouched down, tilting his head as he scanned for signs of movement. "You got a plan?"

"I planted C-4 along the wall... between that and drillin' Voulsh full of holes, I thought I'd just wait... for him to come over here and kick his ass," Sheppard explained.

"So, not so much."

Sheppard glared at him and Ronon rubbed at his chin, twisting the hair there as he studied his comrade. "Can you move at all?"

The colonel pushed off of the boulder to stand on one leg as he waved at his cane. "If I have to."

Ronon grunted, not overly impressed, and took off back towards the tree line, leaving behind his teammate to gape at his actions. He skidded to a halt near the bottom of the incline, eyes sweeping the ground until they came upon a few fallen branches. He tested a few out, judging length and durability. Before he took off, he closed his eyes, listening to the ground, feeling the natural rhythm of life hum all around.

He made his way back, handing the hearty piece of wood to his friend. "This will hold your weight more than that toothpick could."

"This isn't your fight," the colonel growled.

"It's part of my war."

Sheppard took the thick branch and stabbed it in the ground. "Ronon, I don't have regrets for what I did to protect Atlantis during the Genii siege. Some people out there have taken a different point of view and I need to face the consequences of my actions... Don't make me regret getting you involved."

"Did it matter to you what happened to that village when the Wraith culled them, even though my presence brought them there?"

"No... but..."

"Those villagers wanted revenge... maybe they had the right… maybe not. They did what they felt they had to and I was forced to face my past. But you wouldn't let me do it alone... even when I threatened you."

The ends of the colonel's mouth curled up after the last part, th**e**n he bowed his head in contemplation. "I just can't risk anymore lives..."

Ronon grabbed his commander's bicep. "The risk is our choice... it's what brothers do for one another."

The colonel looked him in the eye and for the first time he saw the true John Sheppard... the one who would not normally allow himself to accept or admit to feeling the same type of kinship.

Sheppard cleared his throat. "Alright, big guy, let's do this."

"You draw him out into the open and I'll take care of the rest."

"Right... I'll just..."

"Be bait."

The colonel's brow furrowed. "Okay... And you'll be?"

"I'll be right outside the tree line."

"And the whole invisibility thing?"

Ronon looked at his team leader in all seriousness. "He won't be using his cloak, not when he thinks it'll just be you two. He'll try to finish you off face to face... out of respect."

"Why is it I earn respect from all the wrong people?"

"We should get ready. Just stay here. It won't be hard for Voulsh to find you."

"Don't worry...wasn't plannin' on movin' if I didn't have to."

Sheppard leaned over the rock, setting his elbows on top, the rest of his body supported by the boulder so there wasn't any weight on his left leg. Ronon patted him on the back lightly, thinking anything harder would knock the man down.

"Ronon?"

He spun around.

"Good luck… and thank you."

"Leaving no man behind applies to you too, Sheppard."

Ronon left to find a spot where he could listen to the woods and watch any approach towards the colonel's position. He sniffed the air, searching for any changes in the breeze and laid a hand along the ground, feeling the warmth creep into his skin. Unlike the artificial halls of Atlantis, he could connect out here, immerse himself with all five senses, detecting any slight nuance.

Ronon waited--- watching, listening, _feeling_ everything that swirled and reacted to the life elements that surrounded him. He noticed the blur in his peripheral vision, his pupils fixing on the shimmer and all of its graceful and deliberate movement.

He could feel the pulse of the ground under him...a drumming of blood coursing through his body, the tribal beat urging him to fight. There was an insatiable urge to use his blaster, but they had all learned the hard way how ineffective the weapon was against Voulsh's suit. The light refraction of the exoskeleton moved away from the shaded trees and out into the open, begging to be struck down. Ronon remained in a low crouch, his entire body coiled tightly, biding his time.

The air crackled as the cloak disengaged, revealing the confident black clad figure of the Hunter.

Ronon stalked as close as he dared without disclosing himself, narrowing the gap until the only thing standing between both warriors was the breath it would take to lunge.

Voulsh unsheathed a six inch blade and methodically turned in his direction; he held up his free hand in a taunt and waved Ronon over with it.

He charged, the air filling with the bellow of his attack.

* * *

Ronon's sword cut the air as he made a large sweep at Voulsh's neck in hopes of a quick kill. The hunter stepped back, using his knife to block the strike inches from his concealed face. His sword skidded across the steel, glancing off his enemy's protected forearm. Ronon twirled around for another quick swipe, only to have his weapon gnash against the blade once more.

The hunter backed away, pulling out a second knife and twirling them around simultaneously in a show of skill. Ronon's fists were a blur of motion, leveling strike after strike– each flash of his sword connecting with alternating blocks. Metal meet metal, the hunter's knives glancing back every blow.

Each warrior backed away, circling the other. Ronon searched the black exoskeleton for a source of weakness, knowing that the chest was clad with the heaviest of the outer layer. He needed to seek the abdomen or below the belly to inflict damage.

Voulsh charged forward, locking hilts with one blade as he tried to stab Ronon in the chest with the other. He blocked the steel using his wrist; bracelet and black leather pushed against each other until Ronon launched a knee into the Hunter's belly. It smacked uselessly into the thick protection and both fighters pushed off and away from each other.

They circled one another once again, Ronon checking out of the corner of his eye to verify that Sheppard was staying put. There wasn't anything the colonel could do but get in the way ---and he was grateful that the pilot knew he'd be distraction.

"You've protected him well, Satedan." The alien voice was staticky... unnatural.

Ronon grinned, eyes narrowed at his opponent. "I still am."

He expected the flourish; sunlight glinted off of the blades as they slashed in every direction, across...diagonal...in high and low swooping arcs. Ronon avoided the first flurry, dropping his heavy sword and pulling out his favorite knife within seconds to parry the deadly attack. His blade cut across the Hunter's midline, just as Voulsh's steel sliced through his shirt, breaking the skin.

Ronon felt a warm trickle of blood, but the flesh wound was minor. "That the best you can do?"

Voulsh twirled the knife in his left hand.

It was merely a distraction as he threw the right one at his head---Ronon ducked, expecting the ploy. It was his turn to change things up and took a page from Sheppard's book as he full body tackled the assassin. His momentum and surprise was enough to send them both flying to the ground, Ronon landing on top with a crunch.

Hands locked with wrists... knives held in wavering motion away from the other's flesh. Ronon grunted, trying to plunge the tip of his steel into the damaged part of Voulsh's mask. Close up, the helmet looked like the mask Sheppard wore in his 302 with a section to protect the skull, a face visor and oxygen device. He knew the thing was already in poor shape and, much like an arm wrestling match, Ronon allowed his hand to fall to the wayside, giving him just the right angle.

_POP_

He jabbed his right elbow into the center of Voulsh's nose, cracking the mask. It was enough of a distraction for Ronon to twist his foe's knife hand away and pin it to the ground with his left forearm. Air seeped out of the helmet and he used the opportunity to jab his knife into the weakened area. The metal sunk into the breathing apparatus, but he wasn't able to plunge it all the way in---the blade unable to penetrate through the hard casing.

He tried to wrench the knife out so he could jab it back in harder when the Hunter smashed the heel of his boot into his side. The blow knocked him off balance, but not enough to dislodge him off of the assassin.

Blow after blow crashed into him; the heavy boot slammed all over his back and side, catching his ribs. He tried to plunge the knife back down, only to have it be knocked out of the way as the Hunter smashed his head into Ronon's face with a _crack_.

Blood spurted from his nose, the world tilted sideways and Ronon wasn't sure what was up or down anymore. A fist smashed the side of his head, making his brain bounce inside his skull just as another sock to the face made his vision blur as Voulsh got to his feet.

The Hunter wheezed strangely from his damaged mask and that was enough for Ronon to orient himself on. A fuzzy black blob came at him with a clumsy attack and he grabbed the bad guy's wrist, twisting it at a sharp angle until the knife fell from Voulsh's hand.

Victory was short-lived because the assassin reversed the hold, twisting his arm behind his back where his foe now stood behind him, bending his wrist back until the bone snapped.

Ronon roared as his arm was manipulated into an impossible angle and it cracked as well. His wrist and forearm exploded—his shoulder began to dislocate from its socket and he fought to stay on his feet, his head swimming from the firecracker of pain. An arm wrapped around his throat from behind.

With his free arm, he grappled the assassin from behind and, with all his strength, flipped him over his shoulder.

The Hunter landed on his back with a resounding thud.

Ronon's left arm hung limply by his side as he kicked Voulsh in the back of the head, screaming in fury as it connected. The air still leaked out from the mask and it muffled the assassin's grunt into a slithery hissing sound. He pulled out another knife one handed, prepared to saw through Voulsh's exoskeleton if he had to.

Voulsh rolled over to his side and scrambled to his knees, pulling out a gun this time.

Every muscle seized as a blue energy bolt burst into Ronon's chest, knocking the breath out of him and sending him to his knees.

Blood filled his mouth from where he'd bit his tongue and his body twitched as every nerve fired, sending him into a spasm that locked up all his muscles.

Voulsh wavered on his feet until he regained some equilibrium. The Hunter searched the ground, spotting Ronon's sword too far out of reach. When he spoke, his voice was garbled and electronic sounding, with hints of his real, guttural voice slipping through.

"You're skilled... but you have failed."

Ronon considered just launching himself blindly, but he was growing numb as the pain began to fade and unconsciousness tugged at his mind.

The Hunter kept his blaster trained, not getting too close.

"You think you have honor... but you're just... a _Javkaulf _...," Ronon spat, fighting his betraying body and trying to bait the assassin.

"You cost me my honor... but I won't take your life. You'll live, only to know failure like I have. Knowing that you didn't live up to what you hold dear. Too bad you won't be awake to watch him die."

Ronon's body trembled in blind fury as he tried to move... to spit... to do anything!

The Hunter just watched his useless struggle while all his energy bled away from the effects of the stun. Voulsh aimed his weapon and, in the background, he could hear Sheppard scream.

The last thing he heard as another energy bolt struck him and he was plunged into blackness was the sound of a P90.

* * *

Sheppard felt his heart slam against his sternum when the air twenty meters away glistened and the source of so much pain materialized. The guy two months early for Halloween stood out of reach. Ugly stood there, withdrawing his precious blade, making Sheppard's arm tingle from recent memory. The Hunter didn't stalk over; instead the menace turned around to face the woods and the forest exploded with Ronon's charge.

He found it hard to play the part of quiet observer, when one of his friends was fighting _his_ battle, but Sheppard knew deep down not to screw this up. One wrong move and he became the liability that he loathed so, instead of joining the fray, he ran over other scenarios and options for attack if things went down the tubes.

Three minutes later, it looked like the good guys were losing and he grabbed his walking stick and placed weight on both feet. He took two steps before his leg awoke from its stupor, and a bottle rocket exploded down his limb and cut him down. Sheppard crumpled in a heap, writhing on the ground, hands wrapped around his thigh as if they could control the rebellion.

He lay there, waiting for the spots in his vision to clear and his ears to stop ringing. Puffing for breath, he dug through his vest until his fingers felt the morphine injector. Knowing what was at stake, he jabbed the thing into his hip, praying for the blissful cloud to extinguish the roaring flames. His head began to feel disconnected, like a balloon trying to drift away, and he tugged on the string before it floated elsewhere.

The stims were kept in another pocket and his gelatin fingers fumbled about for them. His eyelids were at half mast, enjoying the fluffy little clouds in the sky inviting him to slumber with them up high.

He clawed inside his vest, finally locating the needed med and he tried to stick it into his thigh, but nothing seemed to work quite right, his aim lazy and off. Double dipping the morphine in such a short amount of time probably had something to do with his lack of coordination, but deep in his mind, Sheppard was screaming.

He slammed the injector into his leg, filling his veins with Tabasco sauce, chili pepper and a jalapeño pick-me-up because the ephedrine didn't feel like THIS the first time. Everything glowed brighter, and a yellowish tint highlighted everything with halos and little sparkles.

God, did he feel GOOD. He stumbled around on the rocky ground until he saw Ronon's body jerk and stiffen as a blue beam hit him in the chest—dropping him like a rock.

_God damn it!_

Sheppard snagged his cane, hoisted himself back onto his feet and hobble-hopped as fast as his energized legs could carry him. He clutched his P90 and pulled it away from his tac vest just as his friend took another blast from the energy weapon.

"Ronon!"

"You sonuvabitch!!"

He held down the trigger, spraying the Hunter point blank with suppression fire, wobbling closer as he emptied his gun into the asshole assassin.

He was wasting ammunition, much of his fire power missing its mark, and those rounds striking the Hunter barely slowing him down.

Voulsh was on him in no time, wrenching the P90 out of his grip, ejecting the magazine and tossing the weapon aside. The Hunter backhanded the left side of his face, causing his head to snap sideways. Blood dripped down his chin from a split lip and the world teetered on the edge of blackness as he listed dangerously from the blow. Sheppard locked up his left leg to keep from falling and stared at his foe in defiance.

"If we're going to try to kill each other, why don't you take off that mask so we can do it face to face?"

Voulsh took a step back and unclasped the part of his helmet that connected at his shoulders, then undid some tabs and parts near his chin. The thing fell apart in pieces, the breathing apparatus dropping to the ground and the visor sliding into the helmet. After a moment of fiddling, the entire thing came away, revealing the gray skin of the Hunter's neck and the man who been stalking him for a week.

The hair on the Hunter's head was in tiny, short braids, each about an inch long, much like the ends of a rug. His flesh was gray, almost like a Wraith's from the lack of sunlight, with purple veins visible under the skin all across his forehead. There were two parallel scars above his left eye from what looked like a knife attack, and the pupils of his eyes were dark in a sea of deep blue.

Most of Voulsh's face was bruised from his up close encounter with his gun, his lips pale with another scar running over the corner and under his chin. The guy looked like a ghoul in many ways, except for the jet black cornbraids on his head.

"You really are ugly," Sheppard muttered.

"I am going to enjoy this," Voulsh cooed, the timbre of his voice deep and rich.

Sheppard cocked a challenging eyebrow and smiled. "Then I'm going to try to make it as unpleasant as possible."

* * *

_A/N: Don't throw things at me, but Ronon deserved his own chapter. Not sure who's online with Potter mania going on, next update in a couple of days._


	16. Chapter 16

When the adrenaline hit his system it sent him soaring into the stratosphere and delayed his reflexes. He was a tad too slow to avoid the second backhand to his face that snapped his head and nearly unhinged his jaw. Somehow he remained on his feet; perhaps his brain hadn't signaled for his body to fall down yet. He ducked the fist that followed and he swung his heavy _cane_ at Voulsh's face, the Hunter dodging it easily. Using the stick as a weapon backfired, leaving him precariously off balance. A quick punch to the gut knocked all the air out of him and Sheppard's legs gave way.

His knees slammed to the ground and he began to sway, his body tingling with millions of invisible ants that swarmed all over his skin. Voulsh bent down, balling up his fist for another knock around the park, when Sheppard headed butted the assassin in the face, surprising them both. Despite the fireworks in his skull and the array of pretty colors that danced like flashbulbs in his vision, it cleared up his head.

Sheppard grabbed his 9 mil, raising it to place a bullet in Voulsh's skull when he realized that he couldn't keep the gun still enough to aim. The weapon bobbled and lurched badly in his trembling hand, and, by the time he reached out with his second one to steady it, the Hunter swatted it out of the way. His stampeding heart tried to burst out of his chest but the panic sensation was negated by a fist smashing into the left side of his face, making his teeth smash together.

Voulsh grabbed him by the scruff of his neck to keep him still. A _POP _later and his world went in and out of focus as a trickle of blood drizzled from a cut above his eye. He hated to tell the assassin that trying to turn his face into hamburger wasn't going to work, because it wasn't feeling a damn thing.

"Ever... Swallowed… Novocaine?"

Voulsh stared at him and Sheppard smiled despite the swelling of his face.

The Hunter returned the grin. "I will watch your eyes pop out of their sockets."

Sheppard didn't like the sound of that, but a retort was cut short as fingers wrapped around his throat. His hands went up immediately to pry away the ones cutting off his air, but he couldn't get any leverage and was left gasping for breath. Voulsh dug his thumbs painfully into his windpipe, preventing any other attempts to suck in more oxygen.

He tried to break the hold, chopping at the Hunter's wrists exerting the pressure so tightly. He imagined the band of black and blue bruising to his flesh and was surprised that his larynx hadn't been crushed. A sharp pain began to build in his chest and the odd yellow halos in his vision burned whiter with gray closing around the edges.

Sheppard thrashed about, but the assassin's grip was unrelenting. Both hands squeezed harder, and his mind screamed as the gray edges turned black.

His struggles weakened, all pigment draining from his face except for a flushing red that grew darker and it really did feel like his eyes were bulging out of his head. He reached for his knife, tingling fingers brushing over the hilt, but his starving brain urged his search towards his vest pocket.

"You've been a worthy adversary; this is a privilege."

The guttural voice sounded so very far away—like he was deep under tons of unforgiving ocean. Voulsh jerked his head up until their faces were inches from each other and Sheppard could see the tiniest smile form at a job almost complete. Sheppard could feel his body grow heavy and boneless, his hand wrapping around the object in his dying grasp.

His heart, his head, every molecule struggled against the suffocation. With one final desperate jolt of energy, he pulled out the morphine injector and stabbed it into the Hunter's exposed neck, pushing the contents of the heavy narcotic into the man's system.

It was hard to tell with dark spots floating in front of him, but the glimpse of shock on the assassin's face was priceless and the glint in Voulsh's eyes grew fuzzy. The Hunter wavered, slipping to his knees, losing his fight to stay standing against the powerful drug. The stranglehold around Sheppard's throat loosened while the assassin struggled to keep up the pressure, his hands finally falling away as both men collapsed to the ground.

The head rush was off the chart; every atom of oxygen he could gulp and suck down wasn't enough to relief the spasms in his lungs. Sheppard rubbed at his painful throat while trying not to pass out or hyperventilate.

There wasn't time to relish being saved from the brink of oblivion, even if all four chambers of his heart tried to pump at the same time, making it feel like the muscle would implode on itself. He crawled on all fours, using the nitroglycerin scorching through his body to climb on top of the assassin and grab part of the Hunter's leather collar.

"The shoe's ... on the other foot... now..." he panted.

Sheppard didn't wait for a response and slammed his fist into the face below. The impact of bone and flesh didn't faze him and he pulled back to smash the face again... and again... and AGAIN.

The Hunter's nose was bent the wrong way and blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, standing out against a canvas of gray skin. Voulsh struggled to get up, but Sheppard pinned him down with his right knee, breathing harshly through his mouth and nose.

"Doesn't feel so hot, does it?"

Sheppard glanced up to check on Ronon. Seeing the Satedan so lifeless and the images of the bombing still fresh in his head ---- he didn't even realize that he was still pummeling away at the flesh below him.

Even when his fingers crunched and cracked, he wasn't able to control his fury.

The world buzzed and shuddered, and his soaked hair dripped down his forehead, doing little to cool down his roasting skin. The very air he breathed was electric and it felt like he wasn't getting enough despite swallowing every bit. Sheppard peered down at the bloody mess beneath him trying to recall what the hell was happening.

The moment of confusion was enough. Voulsh used his knee and, with incredible strength, flipped him over, sending Sheppard through the air. He landed roughly on the ground and needed a moment to orient himself.

He began to pick himself back up when his legs were kicked out from under him, sending him back down. Before he could roll away, a boot connected with his ribs. The second blow was uncoordinated and, once again, Sheppard was thanking the morphine for the Hunter's clumsiness.

The assassin's legs wobbled next to him and he unsheathed his knife, thrusting it into the side of Voulsh's calf. The alien howled in pain and wrenched the blade out, blood seeping from the wound.

"We're still.. .not even," Sheppard panted as he tried to scramble away.

The fight had unleashed a flood from his adrenal glands, mixing with the pharmaceutical cocktail in his blood. The ground spun dizzyingly in front of him; although the kicks to his ribs hadn't bothered him, they churned his already queasy insides. Throwing up right now wouldn't be a good idea even if doing it all over Voulsh's boots would make his day. He needed to lure him towards his C-4 surprise.

His cane was nowhere in sight, but he forced himself to his feet, ignoring his body's outcry at being stooped over and trying to stumble about. Voulsh was just as unsteady on his feet as he tried to chase him down. His muscles were too slow to listen to his commands and he couldn't recall which pocket held the detonator.

With his brain swimming in molasses and the Hunter right behind him, Sheppard thought he recognized the patch of rock where his little bomb was hidden. They neared the right spot just as he was jerked down from the back of his vest and once again met the soil with a thud. He felt something dig and scrape over his back, the bulletproof lining saving him from being ripped open.

Sheppard tried to lash out with his leg, but it wouldn't cooperate and Voulsh was too stoned to realize why his knife didn't had an effect even as it slashed between his shoulder blades. He needed to get the asshole off of him before Voulsh figured out the whole Kevlar vest thing and tried for an unprotected area. There was a good sized rock near his elbow and he attempted to latch onto the thing, rolling over to bash it into his opponent's face but bobbled it at the sight of glinting of metal.

The knife came plunging into his chest, tearing the fabric and only enraging Voulsh further when it didn't inflict any injury. Sheppard knocked the weapon out of the Hunter's hand. All the calm, meticulous aspects of the assassin were gone, replaced with anger and rage. A reckless swing caught Sheppard in the side of his jaw as the assassin wrestled on top of him, Voulsh's knees bearing all their weight on top of his legs to keep him still. Another fist clobbered the side of his head and he knew at this point, Voulsh would be content at beating him to death.

Sheppard fumbled for the rock again. Shaky hands clutched it and, with all his energy, sent it careening into Voulsh's head with a sickening crack. The alien slumped over as Sheppard did everything in his power to scramble out from under him.

He clawed at the soil, falling, dragging and pushing his body beyond every limit. He had nothing left— all the ephedrine in the world couldn't make him move any further. Sheppard crumpled, praying that he could just think straight long enough to find the damn trigger.

His chest felt strange, like a giant weight was pressing down on it and his stupid fingers were a useless collection of pinpricks. The sounds of movement raised the panic level even higher and he pulled out the device, almost dropping it before he pressed the button.

Voulsh got to his feet and took one step before part of the mountain side exploded, sending thousands of pieces of granite shrapnel into him; large chunks of boulders tumbled on top soon after.

Sheppard covered his face with his arms while it rained down debris, his lungs filling with choking dust.

His ears rang with the loud clanging of large church bells.

He clutched his aching head, peeling his eyelids open to blink back the sprinkle of silt that settled all over him.

Was it over?

He couldn't rest until it was certain, no matter the protests by every joint in his body and the 'gone fishing' sign posted by his increasingly rebellious stomach. The ground stopped moving long enough for him to lurch along.

Sheppard didn't know how long it took to drag himself over to unmoving form of his foe. He didn't have his knife anymore, and both guns were lost somewhere during the whole showdown. He crawled over to the body of his enemy and could smell the blood that hung in the air.

The debris from the explosion covered the Hunter's midsection, one boulder the size of a safe pinning an arm to the ground with the rest of its mass resting over a good section of the man's chest. Voulsh's face was streaked with crimson from numerous lacerations, and rivulets dripped to the ground from a bad looking gash on his forehead. More blood ran down one side of the assassin's mouth, staining his teeth and mingling with more redness from the shards of rock caught in the Hunter's throat.

Sheppard's lips twisted in a grimace; he'd witnessed the results of blasts on the human body- no matter the enemy, it was a devastating way to die. Voulsh stared at him, the silence between them broken by a cough, the alien splattering more blood over his chin.

The assassin craned his neck and when he spoke, his voice was wet and ragged. "My... journey … is over now."

Sheppard didn't know how to respond, his thoughts stuck in a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions and thoughts.

Voulsh weakly moved his free hand, fingers seeking a black cord around his neck, and, with difficulty, he tugged on it, breaking it free. "Take... them."

Sheppard's own trembling fingers grabbed the memento. It took him a few seconds to realize that they were his dog tags and he glanced at the Hunter in confusion.

The assassin's chest stopped rising and he breathed his last words in a harsh rasp. "This is... a... glorious... death."

Sheppard felt his anger swell for an unknown reason and he shook Voulsh's shoulders to no avail. The hunter's face had twisted in a contented smile.

"That's all you have to say?" Sheppard yelled.

Not trusting the sneaky bastard, he felt for a pulse. Finding nothing under his fingertips, he closed Voulsh's eyelids, not wanting the eyes to stare at him anymore.

Sheppard didn't have time to deal with the fallout crashing all around him. Ronon was still out of his reach with God knew what type of injuries. He liked things that went over 200mph but having his pulse go at that speed couldn't be good for him. The roller coaster ride towards his friend was unpredictable; the ground lurched, shook and bounced all around, and if he looked straight ahead, things blurred into a vortex of spinning colors.

He panted too fast, almost gagging on his own saliva, but he was by his friend's side by sheer force of will.

"...Ronon?"

He reached for a pulse in his friend's carotid and relief washed over him like cold water when it beat strong and steady. Sheppard flopped to the ground next to his teammate, closing his eyes for a moment's rest.

"Sheppard?"

"Ronon!"

"You're alive."

"Yeah."

Sheppard lay on the forest floor, the trees a nice bit of shade from the blistering sun over head.

"Voulsh dead?"

"As a doornail." Sheppard turned his head. "Are you injured?"

He heard the scraping of clothes and an angry growl. "Can't move..."

"Pins and... needles?"

Ronon painstakingly shifted his head so he was staring at him. "Yeah... I can only feel my fingers and toes."

"Anything...else?"

"Broken arm."

Bones would mend, sensation from a stunner would return and Sheppard felt an odd tickling sensation of his own.

Ronon looked at him, studying his sprawled form. "You're hurt."

Was he? "Don't...know...we beat the crap out of each other."

"You look bad."

There was a hint of worry in the runner's voice and Sheppard thought to put the man at ease with a quick run down for anything he might have overlooked. He was sore... he thought. His body still hummed and twitched, and the flip flopping of his guts still threatened to expel whatever he had eaten last. Feeling lightheaded and slow, he looked for any wounds that he could have missed. The straining made him feel like a bobblehead.

"Sheppard."

Ronon's tone was more insistent and Sheppard looked at him, following his alarmed eyes towards his leg.

His BDUs were soaked with blood, streaks dripping down the sides and staining his boots.

"Crap."

During his fight to the death and subsequent abuse of pushing past his limits, he'd ripped open the wound. It was ironic really... they'd come full circle from the first time he'd encountered Voulsh and the assassin still might have completed his mission… even from beyond the grave.

* * *

_Update on Wednesday. Thank you guys for everything!!! It means a lot._


	17. Chapter 17

"In war, resolution; in defeat, defiance; in victory, magnanimity" --Winston Churchill

* * *

Rodney watched the Ronon dot move at remarkable speed, covering a distance that would have left him gasping for breath. His eyes drifted over to Sheppard's unmoving blip of light, urging the runner to live up to his previous occupation. 

"We should do something," he muttered.

"Like what?"

Rodney turned around to give the physician an impudent glare. "I don't know; figure out a way to help them if things go bad."

Carson looked up from the mini-pharmacy he was counting. "The sensors can't broadcast anything happenin' over there. We can't even read vitals from the data stream. Sitting here trying to raise the level of your stroke meter isn't going to help."

"Rescue attempts require thinking, and the two blinking dots on the screen have proven that they are incapable of using their brains."

He ignored the physician mutter under his breath as he watched, entranced by the screen in front of him. The Atari graphics were the only clue they had about the showdown at the OK Corral.

"Ronon's there!"

"Where?"

Carson nudged his way over to the cockpit, eyes glued to the two dots huddled together. "What do you think they're doin'?"

"How the hell should I know? I never played Cowboys and Indians when I was a kid. No doubt Chewy is telling Sheppard how much he admires his idiotic behavior and sharing with him some secret handshake reserved for their special breed of lunatics."

"Ronon's going somewhere."

"I don't need a color commentary, I'm watching the same thing you are."

He narrowed his eyes, wondering what the big guy was up to, when the dot went back to the colonel. "Maybe he had to take a piss."

"Now who's adlibbing?" Carson shot back.

The two of them didn't say a word when both dots converged again before Ronon's wandered several feet away to lay in wait. It was amazing how two little specks could make his heart pound and leave him sweating, waiting to see if either one did anything. Rodney's eyes bounced side-to-side inside their sockets watching both symbols.

"Oh no," the Scot breathed.

Rodney leaned forward when the third life sign appeared out of nowhere. His fingers tapped the console to enlarge that area. "Decloaking like that… um, not a good sign."

"Bloody bastard doesn't care anymore."

The Ronon blinking light dashed towards the Voulsh one, and the two energy readings jumbled into a single indistinguishable shape. Thirty seconds in and Rodney wasn't sure who was who, and, strangely, he was secretly glad that they couldn't see the damage being done. He didn't think he could stomach watching two people beat each other to a pulp. Knowing both warriors had a secret love of knives… fuzzy white dots were just fine.

"I don't know if I can take this," Carson fretted next to him.

Rodney swallowed past a lump in his throat. "Ronon can take him."

"_Rodney_."

He wanted to close his eyes. There could only be one reason for that worried tone.

The colonel's signal began to move from its position.

Rodney slammed his hand on the panel in front of him. "Damn it, Sheppard!"

One dot hadn't budged in the past minute; the other one moved towards the colonel.

"What's goin' on?"

Rodney shook his head. "I don't know. Ronon would definitely kill Voulsh... so it... it can't be him. But, why would Voulsh let Ronon live?"

"Maybe the colonel told Ronon not to kill the bugger."

It was possible, but Rodney thought the Satedan would ignore that particular order. He glared at the screen, and things devolved before his eyes when the two dots bounced off one another in a dance of death.

"There's no way Sheppard can win this, military training or not, and I'm not going to just stand by and watch him die on a glorified Palm Pilot!"

Carson grabbed his shoulder, but he jerked away. "We killed that Wraith that was after Ronon, we can shoot Voulsh from the jumper."

"We could also accidentally kill the colonel! He can't move fast enough to avoid our weapons."

"Damn it! I'm not going to play the useless scientist role while Sheppard does this to protect us all. For once he's going to have to just grin and bear a role reversal!"

"Rodney..."

"Don't _Rodney _me. Get out of my way while I fly this thing."

He tried to shove past his friend but the Scot grabbed him by both shoulders and forced him to study the display. "One of the life signs is gone."

_Already? It was over?_

Rodney blinked, panic setting in, and he held his breath while he studied the screen. "Sheppard's transmitter is still active!"

"Aye! It is!" Carson said elated.

Rodney pointed excitedly. "Sheppard's moving over towards Ronon's dot."

His friend slapped him on the back. "He did it!"

Neither dot moved or began coming back their way and the anxiety inside the jumper skyrocketed with every minute that neither friend exhibited movement.

"How far away are they?" Carson asked.

"A kilometer at least, too far if we tried carrying all your crap," Rodney said as he began powering up the ship.

"What are ya doing?"

"Going to go get them."

"And how in the hell are ya goin' to do that? There's no place to land."

Rodney got the jumper airborne, navigating it towards his unmoving team mates. "I'm going to use some primitive military philosophy."

"And what the blazes would that be?"

"If I can't fix it... I'll just blow something up."

* * *

Ronon used every Satedan expletive in the book, his brain screaming the words used to invoke, encourage and berate. No matter how much he concentrated, there was nothing he could do to overcome the paralysis from multiple stuns. Millions of tiny needles pricked at his skin and mush had replaced his muscles, leaving tingling feet and fingers that curled slightly. 

He lifted his head. "Sheppard."

The colonel didn't respond to his name and Ronon added a sharp hiss to his tone. "Sheppard!"

The pilot lay there, eyes blinking as if trying to focus on the voice nearby, but the man didn't answer--- wasn't doing anything to stop his wound from bleeding.

"John!"

"Yeah?"

Ronon could feel his frustration explode. "Grab a field dressing... put pressure on your leg."

Sheppard's chest rose and fell at an alarming rate, his face ashen under the blood that welled up from his eye and split lip. Ronon focused on trying to move, every thought centered on his body. A heaviness forced his limbs to the ground, a deep-seated lethargy that trapped all motion and submitted his body to the will of gravity.

He wasn't completely numb though, and he tried to push past the forces that trapped him in place, the sensation of being covered by thick layers of thistle a sign of his nerves trying to awaken.

"I need your help, Sheppard."

His plea had the desired effect and the colonel turned his head to face him, speaking in a breathless whisper. "Ronon?"

"I need you to come over here."

The colonel groaned as he rolled to his side, panting heavily from the effort, blood-shot eyes trying to focus on his face. "Not... feeling so... hot."

"You probably forgot to duck again, now move!"

His hand burned a little, the prickly bits leading to a dull throb. The painful stimuli could only mean feeling would follow. Ronon worked on his fingers, hoping the growing sensation would move faster through his extremities.

Sheppard made it to his hands and knees. As soon as he moved, his face blanched and the sounds of his retching filled the air. Ronon winced, his nose reacting to the awful smell that he couldn't get away from as his friend emptied out the contents of his stomach. He understood enough first aid to survive on the battlefield; his medical knowledge was limited after that. There was no telling what mixing medications had done, but the re-opening of the wound took priority.

He could do something about the bleeding with Sheppard's help. Anything else and they'd have to wait on Beckett.

When the heaving was over, the colonel slumped to the ground only a few inches from where he'd been sick. Ronon couldn't allow his friend to drift off. "Sheppard."

The colonel groaned and looked over at him miserably, his voice raw. "What?"

"Pull out my field dressing."

The pulsating pain in his arm peaked with tiny waves scraping just beneath the surface of his skin. He grunted, using the pain to move to his side, his other broken limb lifeless next to him.

Sheppard shivered violently, apologizing in between rasps. Ronon moved his clumsy arm, flopping it over one of his pockets in search of the dressing. Fat-feeling fingers struggled with the thick pad of gauze.

"Flip onto your back," he instructed.

"You're... sure... bossy… today."

"Now."

It took several aborted attempts before the colonel rolled over. It really amazed him that his team leader had been in any shape to fight Voulsh in his current depleted condition, but battles to the death did have a way of wearing people out. He contemplated his next move, noting that a little feeling had returned.

Ronon stuffed the dressing between his teeth, dug his right hand into the ground and clawed closer to his friend. It was awkward, dragging his body towards Sheppard's leg, noting in alarm that the colonel's BDUs were sodden with blood. It would be impossible to wrap the bandage around the thigh properly, or even hold it in place. With only one option left, he took the dressing and pressed down on the source of the bleeding with sloppy fingers.

The pilot moaned, flinching his leg in the process and making it impossible for him to sustain the proper amount of pressure. Ronon inched closer, a sea of pin-pricks washing over him with every jerky movement until he was as close as he could get. With an enormous amount of effort he laid across his friend's left leg, holding the dressing in place with the weight of his body.

"Arrrrrgggghhhh!" Sheppard roared until his voice ran hoarse.

"It's the only way to stop the bleeding," Ronon grunted, trying to get comfortable in an impossible position.

The colonel wheezed harder from the pain, but soon the pilot settled except for the occasional odd muscle twitch. An army of fine razor tips began dancing over Ronon's spine and he tried not to fidget so he wouldn't hurt his friend.

"You… ever… hear... of personal space?"

"We're not going to mention this to anyone," Ronon growled.

His chin snuggled into the arm he rested on Sheppard's leg.

"Comfy?"

Ronon grunted. "You're not soft."

It was ironic; he couldn't move no matter how hard he tried while Sheppard wasn't able to lay still, hands trembling while the rest of him twitched or jerked at random intervals. He was sure this was some abnormal reaction to the stolen meds, but there was no telling how shock and injury would complicate things.

The colonel took a shuddering breath. "Do you... have your com?"

Ronon blinked, annoyed he hadn't thought of that. Not that it mattered anyway since he'd lost it in the fight. "No."

"When… are the others... supposed to... meet us?"

"I told them to wait."

There was a long pause. "Oh."

Ronon felt himself drift off, his eyelids drooping as his mind longed to join his snoozing body. His eyes snapped open several minutes later and he tried flexing his fingers, the tingling more pronounced. A dull burning began to course through his broken arm. Then it occurred to him that during all his shuffling, he hadn't heard his team leader complain.

"Hey."

At no answer, Ronon adjusted his numb hand, pressing down on the wound, causing his friend to groan. "Wake up," he ordered.

"M'tired..."

The colonel couldn't be allowed to lapse into unconsciousness so Ronon wracked his brain for something to occupy the pilot-- conversation wasn't exactly one of his strong points.

"What you did was stupid."

"I... know."

Ronon didn't dwell on mistakes; what was done was done. "Warriors have to make bad choices sometimes. It shows strength of character."

"Thanks... I think."

Ronon moved his head to catch a glimpse of a man who been to Hell and back and tried to keep him talking... breathing. "You've been holding out on me."

Sheppard didn't stir and he could feel his rage burn hot at the possibility that after _everything_... it could end like this. "Killing Voulsh… I'm impressed."

Ronon didn't ask him how. A man like Sheppard would have needed to reach deep into the ugliest parts of his soul, tap into those dark feelings buried in secret places to take out a guy like Voulsh. To accomplish that and still hold onto his humanity set his CO apart from many men. The colonel didn't _like_ to kill, didn't have the taste for death that many soldiers developed. He'd take a longer road to avoid that type of conflict.

Sheppard still cared; cared enough to value life just as much he tried to protect it. And that was rare indeed.

The wind blew over their bodies; the fabric of his shirt sleeve was soaked through with bright crimson, the metallic odor thick in the air. He curled his fingers, adding pressure to the inside of Sheppard's thigh to try to slow the flow, eliciting another painful moan.

"Sheppard?"

He tried pushing against the pilot's body to rouse him.

"Mmm... stop... it."

"Don't fall asleep."

"Tryin'... not... to throw up," the colonel said breathlessly.

Ronon's nose wrinkled at the memory, trying to ignore the spreading warmth under his arm, dripping to the ground. "You're not allowed to die... not now."

Silence greeted him and Ronon was running out of topics to discuss when a weak voice began to speak.

"I would... have... shot... that Wraith..."

The statement came out of the blue. "What?" Ronon stammered while the colonel caught his breath.

"...on Sateda... I wouldn't... have let him... kill you."

The admission knocked Ronon for a loop; he didn't like this mode of thinking.

"I would have punched you."

"Better than... being shot."

Ronon didn't own a watch and didn't know how long the silence stretched after Sheppard's admission. He lost count of how many he times he threatened the pilot that he'd kick his ass if he didn't say something.

He flexed his other hand, sending little bursts of lightening down his broken arm, relishing the pain and emerging sensation. He had to get up, had to get help, but pin-pricks weren't going to haul Sheppard the distance towards the jumper. He wanted to scream, to pound his fists into the dead face of the man responsible for all of this.

Ronon felt the cry, a roar, build up in his throat and just as he was ready to unleash it, he heard the high pitched sound of the jumper's engines above. He lifted his head a little and watched in shock as the ship hovered over their position.

"Over here!" he yelled, even knowing that they couldn't hear him.

There was nowhere to land and he didn't have a clue what his friends were up to, but help was so close, close enough to feel hope, even if his internal voice doubted that anything could be done.

The craft circled and flew away towards the woods, the dense trees preventing any touchdown. That was the funny thing about allowing yourself to feel hope... it was so fleeting, but even as it dwindled and died, the jumper began firing at the forest, the weapon's blast destroying sections of land, leaving a large crater in its wake.

Ronon actually grinned.

He strained his neck, forced himself to look over at his friend. "The docs are here! If they can pull off a ballsy move like that, then _you _can stay alive!"

Silence greeted him and Ronon vowed he'd rip every Genii left on Atlantis limb from limb and burn their bodies with Voulsh's so they could spend all eternity in Hell together if his commander didn't make it.

* * *

Carson gripped the handles of his armrest as the treetops on the view screen evaporated in a fireball. "What the blazes are ya doin'? Tryin' to get us killed?!" 

"I'm creating a parking space so just pipe down."

He didn't trust the physicist's abilities to pilot the jumper well enough not to send them careening right into the flames. "I didn't even know you knew how to use the weapons systems."

"I don't. This is my first time."

Squeezing his eyes closed, he offered up a prayer, his fingernails clawing into the leather underneath. "You're bloody insane."

"No, I'm adapting to my situation, something a certain walking rug taught me. Now get ready, I'm about to land," Rodney snapped.

Carson withheld a lecture about kettles and the color black. This wasn't a rational Rodney he was speaking with; this was the worried, scared, and fed-up-at-feeling-useless Rodney McKay with no other way to vent his fears. The landing threw them both forward, finesse the last thing on his friend's mind, and before he could grab his kit, the physicist was tugging on his sleeve.

"Will you hurry up!"

"Are we sure that Voulsh is dead?" he asked, snatching up his trusty black bag, his heart stuttering in his chest.

Rodney froze, both men thinking that the Voulsh-dot might have simply cloaked again. "No, you saw the lights get in a tussle. Sheppard killed him and if not---" Rodney pulled out his gun and unclicked the safety.

Carson felt a chill go down his spine despite the warm temperature that the breeze blew into the jumper. He'd never get used to the whole gun-toting thing, or to the recent familiarity that his friend had with brandishing the weapon.

"Let's go," he mumbled.

The two of them made their way out of the jumper cautiously, the ground still smoldering after being carved out, and they huddled close together, keeping an eye out for the unexpected. Their steady pace away from the crater increased as Rodney clutched the life signs detector, frantically urging them onwards.

"Both of them should be right--- there!"

The physicist pointed at two bodies several meters away and threw caution to the wind as he dashed over, hollering over his shoulder for him to get his butt in gear. Carson huffed, sprinting towards his fallen comrades, trying to mentally prepare himself for the worst. What he didn't expect was to see Ronon Dex using the colonel's thigh as a pillow.

"What the bloody hell?"

Rodney stopped dead in his tracks before the bombardment began. "What is this? Mid-afternoon nap time?"

Ronon lifted his head to shoot daggers at his team mate while he struggled to move, his limbs flopping about like a rag doll's.

"Hold still, lad. What did you do to yourself?"

"Stunned twice, can't move."

Rodney knelt by the colonel's side, his hand reaching for a pulse. "Sheppard?"

Carson reached for the Satedan's but the runner gruffly nudged his offending hand away with his forehead. "I can wait. Sheppard re-opened his wound. This was the only way I could stop the bleeding."

"Damn!" Rodney swore, his hand resting along the carotid. "It going like a million miles an hour!"

Carson had a difficult time wrangling with the runner who greatly outweighed him. Even though he wanted to check out the larger man for injury, his patient would have none of his worrying after he was maneuvered away from the colonel's leg.

"Just take care of Sheppard," Ronon ordered.

Between Rodney's distraught expression and the sight of the blood-soaked bandage, Carson settled the runner to the ground and quickly pulled away the drenched dressing to examine it closer. The BDUs under it were slick with blood, his fingers coming away wet.

"Oh, sweet Jesus, Colonel."

Grass blades were stained red, trails pooled in the creases of Sheppard's pants and Carson quickly pulled out a fresh gauze pad, pressing it over where he imagined the ripped flesh was beneath.

"We've gotta get him in the jumper... Now."

"Didn't you bring you kit with you?" Rodney asked frantically.

"Nothing in my bag is gonna help. We need to get him back to Atlantis as quickly as possible and what I _can _do for him is with the rest of my equipment inside the ship."

"Okay, okay."

Carson wrapped a trail of white around the field dressing to secure it in place, his mind prioritizing what needed to be done. "Is he conscious?"

Rodney, who had been keeping up a quiet litany of reassurances in Sheppard's ear, looked up. "Barely."

"Any other injuries that you know of?" Carson asked as he ran his hands along the colonel's torso, flanks and arms.

"Not sure."

The physician noticed the colonel's poor battered face. "Looks like he got clobbered pretty badly, bloody fool... Oh damn!" he swore when he came across the pilot's swollen and misaligned fingers. "He busted his hand in the fight... must have been all that adrenaline pumping," Carson said, shaking his head. "What a mess."

Knowing that everything else could wait, he looked up at Rodney. "You grab his upper body, I'll handle his legs."

He turned to Ronon. "Rodney will come back to help ya as soon as we're done gettin' the colonel inside."

"Go," the warrior urged.

Rodney grunted as he hauled up their friend under his armpits, struggling to support the dead weight. "I'm going to do what?"

"I'm going to be a wee bit busy to help ya with Ronon," Carson snapped.

His team mate frowned, adjusting the colonel's upper body, his arms lying limply by their sides. "Fine, but this is going to wrench my back for a month."

The trek took excruciatingly longer than Carson had hoped as he readjusted his grip under his patient's knees to try to keep the jostling to a minimum. However, all the bouncing around was rousing the colonel back to awareness. Sheppard groaned and lifted his dangling head to squint against the onslaught of the sun.

"We're getting you somewhere more comfortable, just hang on," Rodney tried to reassure the confused man.

The jumper was within view and Carson carefully navigated while walking backwards, trying not to trip and drop his precious load. The colonel began to struggle weakly as he wiggled within their grips, his eyes snapping open in panic, long limbs flailing around.

"Easy, lad, we're almost there."

"Lemme... go," Sheppard rasped.

Carson's feet hit the ramp as he searched for a place on the floor to lay the man down. "We will in a second."

"Nooooo... gonna... be... sick."

"Not all over me." Rodney reacted quickly and lowered the pilot.

"Turn him to his side," Carson instructed, worried that his patient might choke before they could get him situated.

They eased him over just before the colonel began throwing up, Rodney supporting Sheppard's head since he was too weak to even turn it in time. The physicist pulled out a rag from thin air, and with a gentleness that belied his mocking words, wiped at his friend's mouth and chin.

"See what happens when you act stupid and mix medications? Playing witch doctor is for the those trained in the black arts. You're going to wash my clothes for a week after this."

Carson had been prepared for a crisis. During all that time they'd waited on Ronon's signal, he had arranged things for this type of emergency. He uncoiled some IV tubing, swabbed an area of skin and inserted the needle in the colonel's left arm to give him some much-needed fluids. "Rodney, hang this on that portable pole behind ya."

He pulled out his stethoscope, undid the colonel's shredded tac vest and slipped it under his T-shirt to listen to his heart while reaching toward a wrist to take a pulse.

The vein fluttered violently, pounding under his fingertips while his ears filled with the roaring staccato of the colonel's heart. "God almighty."

Rodney's head snapped to attention, eyes filled with trepidation.

"Get the BP cuff outta of my bag and place it around his bicep. Give it a few pumps and give me the reading off it."

Carson pulled out his bag, grabbing a pair of scissors, cursing over the fact that he didn't have a single trained person to help him with triage, and removed the sopping bandage as he slit open the BDUs. He ignored Rodney while the genius of Atlantis struggled to apply the blood pressure wrap. The colonel's thigh was a mess, caked with dried blood, and fresh volumes seeped from ripped-open stitches.

"What's his pressure?"

"Um... hold on, this isn't as easy as..."

"Rodney!"

"It... it's uh..."

"Just give it to me."

"170 over 100?"

"What?... that can't be right." Carson's heart sank, knowing that the digits were correct--- if they had been reversed then the colonel would be dead.

"Why? It's what the damn things says. What's wrong?"

"Go get Ronon and get back here as quickly as possible," Carson ordered briskly.

"What? No you need me to---"

"What I need is for you to grab Ronon so we can get the hell outta of here!"

Rodney hesitated. He was obviously too keyed up and desperate to help, making the physician feel guilty over his uncharacteristic outburst. "His pulse and pressure are astronomically high... yet he's bleeding out," Carson said, shaking his head, wracking his brain over the conflicting problems.

It didn't make sense. Freshly-sewn sutures leaking like a sieve, coupled with a stimulant PUSHING the blood out… the man's BP should have been circling the drain even with a dose of ephedrine.

"Go! Now, Rodney!"

Feet clambered out of the jumper while a grocery list of problems needed to be addressed in order of severity, and hemorrhaging took precedence. He didn't trust sticking forceps inside the colonel's thigh mid-flight, so a pair of latex gloves and a portable light later, Carson was clamping down on injured veins in a less than ideal operating setting.

Steady fingers threaded a tiny piece of string, temporarily sewing together the bleeder responsible for the streaks all over Sheppard's leg. The femoral artery was still intact, but the other vesicular damage was bad enough.

The colonel moaned as he worked inside the wound. An elbow kept the man's leg still while Carson kept telling himself that he wasn't causing too much pain. He couldn't risk any sedation; the pilot had taken that option right off the table. Carson was grateful for whatever morphine still flowed through his patient.

He had to get Sheppard's blood pressure down; even with the main culprit clamped, the wound still oozed thanks to the copious amount of blood thinners the colonel was on. Oxygen was next and he pulled out a mask, checking the O2 tank before trying to slip it over his patient's mouth and nose as he heard his team mates approaching; Rodney's bickering voice carried into the jumper.

"You need to lay off extra helpings at dinner, you're too heavy."

Ronon's arm was draped over Rodney's shoulders, the smaller man somehow taking on most of the runner's weight. The two wobbled back and forth until the physicist deposited the larger team member on one of the seats in the rear.

Carson held out his hand as his friend came charging over. "Be careful."

"I'm not going to step on him, jeeesh..." Rodney headed for the cockpit, demanding answers as he went. "How is he?"

"Holding on."

Ronon cradled his arm, his body leaned against the inside wall, his eyes glued to all the activity in front of him. "He finished it."

There was no need to mention what 'it' was. The Hunter was dead, killed by the guy who refused to give in, to let his team come into harm's way. Ronon didn't need to say the words out loud, but maybe he did so in order to make them seem more real. Carson risked a glimpse at the hulking warrior, a man who prided himself on protecting his team and had been forced to let his CO handle things on his own.

Carson ran through another set of vitals, unsure what he was up against. He frowned at the mess of complications in front of him: shock, blood loss, shallow, rapid breathing, racing heart and pulse. The physician rummaged through his kit, pulling out a syringe and filling it with a beta blocker to control the wild BP.

He injected the medication with bloodstained gloves since he hadn't switched out with a fresh pair. A noise caught his attention and black pin-pricks in swirling green blinked at him.

"Colonel, can you hear me?"

"Hmmmprrrh."

He worried about Sheppard getting ill again, with his leg trussed up with clamps and rudimentary stitching. "Take slower breaths, nice and easy. It'll help with your nausea."

The pilot got an A for effort as he fought for control over his inhalations, his wild eyes darting around the jumper.

"Everyone's safe. You're safe and we're going back to Atlantis to get ya fixed up."

Carson placed a hand on his patient's heaving chest to calm him. "Colonel, please just relax."

"We're almost there." Rodney yelled from the cockpit.

The pilot's eyes fluttered closed and the physician needed to confirm a rising suspicion. "Colonel, how many dosages did you take?"

Bleary, unfocused eyes stared at him and he leaned over, touching the side of the pilot's clammy face. "How many times did you inject those medications? It's important."

"Mmmm... Twice," Sheppard said, his voice muffled under the mask.

Carson squeezed his eyes in damnation. "Both of them?" Of course, couldn't have one without the other.

He licked his lips, rummaging for a vial of Narcan that he had grabbed just in case. He injected the drug in hopes of counteracting the morphine's effect on the colonel's respiratory and nervous systems, but knowing that it couldn't do the same to the stimulant since each drug worked on different receptors. That was the crux of it all. Sheppard had played with the devil by mixing both, leaving Carson to deal with the fallout on top of his other injuries.

It was a bloody disaster.

"Why, son?"

"For duty."

Carson looked up, startled, not realizing he had voiced his thoughts under his breath. "Duty? Doesn't he realize there's more to life than honor and duty?"

Ronon's eyes looked over at the colonel in admiration. "He does. That's the difference between 'em... Sheppard faced Voulsh over a more important thing... and that's something Voulsh would never understand..."

The physician rested his hand on the pilot's wrist, keeping an eye on his racing pulse, and gave the hand there a squeeze since there was nothing left he could do until they were in the infirmary. He looked up at Ronon in understanding. "Aye, but that's something that the colonel still needs to learn. The bond he so desperately tries to protect runs both ways."

"We're entering the launch bay!"

Rodney was crouched down next to the pilot, the automated systems taking care of the landing. Carson tapped his radio. "I need two med teams ready for transport. Tell them to prepare for an overdose and instruct Dr. Cole to be standing by in the OR."

The physician began preparing his patient when his hands brushed over something sticking out of one of the colonel's pockets. Feeling a little curious, he stuck his hand in the pocket, his fingers rubbing over a chain, and pulled out Sheppard's dog tags. He held them up in confusion, the things dangling from his fingers.

"I thought he lost these?"

Ronon grabbed the chain and clutched the tags, staring at Rodney and the physician as he spoke. "Those were never lost... Voulsh tried to steal a part of something that he could never have... Sheppard just claimed what was rightfully his."

* * *

_The last, long chapter up sometime on Friday or Saturday. Thanks a million you guys!!_


	18. Chapter 18

Hadn't they just done this whole whirlwind ride to the infirmary recently? Rodney wouldn't put it past the Pegasus Galaxy to pull a Groundhog Day on him. The arrival in the jumper bay was chaos; throngs of medical personnel blocked the colonel's gurney from view, while another swarm gathered around Ronon as he was placed on a second stretcher.

Lorne made like the parting of the Red Sea, disbursing various military types and others who had waited around. Rodney was glad Elizabeth and Caldwell were bright enough to keep their questions to themselves until later as he followed the med teams to the infirmary where, once again, he was sidelined to being a mere spectator.

Carson's staff cut away the rest of the pilot's clothes, placed a sheet over him except for his leg, pulled off his boots and began pumping in much needed blood.

"Carol, what's his latest set of vitals?"

She looked at Carson with concern. "BP's 130/90, resps rapid at 17 and his pulse is thready at 140."

"That's an improvement, love. His heart rate was hoverin' around 160 before." Carson looked around at his staff. "Let's get him prepped and ready."

Rodney noticed his little group had grown; Elizabeth, Caldwell and Lorne were now accompanied by Teyla, and Ronon still paid attention from where he was being examined.

Carson turned to address those gathered. "We're going in to repair the vesicular damage. Things are gonna be dicey since we're trying to combat the overdose, but the Narcan seems to be doing its job and the beta blocker is helping with the ephedrine. I can't wait to operate so we're going to have to constantly monitor things."

"You expect a full recovery?" Caldwell inquired.

"I'm not an odds maker and I don't know the extent of any nerve damage to his leg so I won't answer that. Let's not forget he's suffered several other injuries on top of everything else."

"Like the ass kicking he's going to receive after he comes through this," Caldwell remarked.

Carson furrowed his brow. "We'll talk about that later. I need to scrub in."

Caldwell and Elizabeth spun, both sporting a very similar '_we want an explanation'_ expressions. Rodney sighed as Teyla calmly joined his side to listen in.

"I don't know what you expect from me." Rodney pointed at Ronon. "He's the one who knows what the hell happened. All I did was watch three dots knock the crap out of each other and in the end, Sheppard killed Voulsh. I don't know how; maybe he went to ninja school while we weren't looking."

"John killed Voulsh?" Teyla inquired.

"Isn't that what I just said?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at his rude remark. "And we know for sure?"

"Well...no... I mean... I never saw the body but his life sign disappeared and Sheppard's sidekick wouldn't have left if Voulsh were alive."

"McKay," Ronon growled.

Elizabeth wandered over to the Satedan's bed. "How are you?"

"Fine. Most of the feeling has returned."

Janice finished scribbling in his chart. "We're waiting on his x-ray results to determine the extent of his broken arm and wrist."

"His nose doesn't look right," Rodney said, staring at the disfigured and swollen lump in the middle of the runner's face.

"We're also waiting on a facial series, but it's probably broken as well," the nurse replied.

"Did you see the body?" Lorne asked.

"No, I couldn't move, but Sheppard said he was dead and I trust him. I think he'd be sure."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to have someone go and pick up that heap of trash. No need to pollute the mainland with his rotting corpse," Caldwell stated.

"I'd be happy to play garbage man," Lorne volunteered.

"Permission granted."

By the way the major enthusiastically accepted the assignment, it was clear he was ecstatic at the chance to get his hands on the hunter's remains.

Teyla touched Rodney's wrist and patted Ronon's arm. "I'm glad that all of you came back and John is being cared for."

"As we all are." Elizabeth faced the remaining team members. "When all of you have had a chance to rest and recover, I expect a full report."

Rodney snorted. "From whom? Ronon was knocked out during his round and Sheppard was high as a kite and probably had no clue what the hell he was doing."

"High as a kite?" Teyla asked.

Rodney sighed. "It explains why He-Man was unable to defeat Voulsh, but the gimp did. Obviously Sheppard was pumped so full of painkillers a truck could have plowed into him and he wouldn't have felt a thing."

He stopped his rant as his gaze dropped to his blood stained hands. They were still shaking.

"If it wasn't for McKay, we wouldn't have gotten Sheppard here in time. He did well in a crisis."

The three of them faced Ronon as the nurse tried to shove him back onto the bed and another injected something into his IV. Elizabeth patted the physicist on the shoulder as she looked at all of them. "Good teams learn from one another. It's what makes a unit."

Rodney hmphed. "When there are no good ideas left and you're desperate enough... a military solution has '_a going down in flames' _appeal to it. Might as well get used to it since I'm sure I'm next on the Genii hit list."

Caldwell and Elizabeth exchanged heavily laden looks that even a blind man wouldn't miss. "What? Oh God, they've sent a hunter after me, didn't they?"

"No, Rodney, but I think you might find what's waiting for you in your lab to be very fascinating," Elizabeth hinted as she guided him away.

* * *

Sheppard's head was pounding, the gigantic gong inside his skull reverberating every time the mallet struck, the echo long and painful. The pressure was unrelenting, like a vice digging into his temples. He wanted to curl up on his side to hide from the mounting tension in his head, but moving proved to be difficult and resulted in a sickening swirl in his stomach. Bile burned the back his throat and the combination of the ferocious headache and his upset stomach made him bolt awake in bed.

There were gentle hands on his back supporting his shoulders and a soft, reassuring whisper in his ear. A dish appeared just in time as the dry heaves began, the hands strong and firm as the rest of him quaked. When his body had enough and his stomach was done trying to twist itself in knots, he was guided back down, a warm washcloth soothing his face and mouth.

Soft fingers pushed the hair back away from his forehead and he made a low sound deep in his throat. He never opened his eyes, praying for the throbbing in his head to go away and leave him alone.

The next morning the ache behind his eyes forced them open. The dimly lit area came into focus and the reason for his awakening stood over him, fussing with his leg.

"Carson?"

He cringed at the grating of rusted metal that was his voice and took a long drag on his oxygen as reality settled in and let him know that he hadn't died on the mainland.

The Scot tucked the sheet back over him, pumped the BP cuff around his arm, and looked at his watch as a finger rested over his wrist. Satisfied, the physician crossed his arms in that _'I'm in a very foul mood'_ pose, though the dark shadows under Carson's eyes reflected the terrible stress of the past twenty-four hours.

"Glad to see you're finally coherent, Colonel."

There was nothing warm or fuzzy about the doc's voice. Sheppard knew there was no escaping what he ultimately deserved, but at least it didn't feel like his ears were about to burst from the pressure in his head. He didn't think there was a single part of him that didn't hurt or ache in some way or another. He wanted to test how badly the left side of his face had swelled up, but looked dumbly at his hand, noticing two braces around black and blue fingers that peeked out from the metal and foam.

"You fractured three metacarpals; those will heal in about six weeks."

Sheppard licked his lips as he studied his bound hand. "Don't remember how I did that."

"Maybe it's because you were a bloody idiot and decided to pump yourself full of whatever piqued your fancy."

Sheppard winced, definitely remembering both times he'd injected the drugs to allow him to move enough to take on Voulsh. It was after the second time that things became a little fuzzy. But not too fuzzy... his eyes went wide. "Ronon?"

"He'll be fine. He messed up the cartilage in his nose, but it's not broken. He suffered a fractured wrist and arm, but all in all, Ronon will be back to beating up Marines in no time."

"Thank goodness," Sheppard breathed.

Carson walked over to the end of the bed, picking up a chart, and scribbled down a few notes as he took readings from all the equipment. "You, on the other hand, ripped open your stitches, nearly bled to death and had to complicate things further by self medicating."

"I'm sorry."

The physician wasn't done with him by a long shot; once the floodgates had opened, the rest came spilling out. "You overdosed on a combination of morphine and ephedrine by injecting them too close together and screwing up your body chemistry. You suppressed your respiratory system while sending your heart into tachycardia. You're lucky I was able to counteract most of the effects before surgery, but your body wasn't happy with ya at all as a result. I just took out the second IV, your constant nausea after surgery kept you pretty dehydrated."

Sheppard grimaced as the irate voice triggered a headache and his discomfort didn't go unnoticed. He felt a hand on his shoulder and the fire in Carson's eyes dulled to a more subdued level. "I'm sorry, lad, but what ya did to yourself... what ya did to the rest of us. I don't ever want to go through that again."

"I did what I felt was right." Sheppard licked dried lips. "And I'd do it again."

"And we'll always come in and save your sorry ass."

Both men watched Rodney slip in front of the curtain divider, Teyla, who slapped his shoulder at the comment, close behind him.

Carson let out an exaggerated sigh. "We can't be crowding the colonel; this is an ICU area after all."

"Then you can go. We'll just stick around now that _somebody_ decided to stop throwing up every three minutes."

Sheppard smirked despite the increased awareness of how much of a beating his body had endured recently.

"All right, you two can visit briefly, but then one of you has to go." Carson turned to his patient. "You're not hooked up to a PCA machine right now; I switched you to Fentanyl as a precaution. If your stomach bothers you at all, just let Janice or Carol know and we'll give you some more Compazine, but I think we're past that hurdle as of now."

The physician had a few choice words for the scientist as he left, but Sheppard didn't hear the exchange as Teyla took the chair to his left side and rested a hand under the railing next to his undamaged one.

"You are looking better, Colonel."

Rodney snorted. "You're kidding, right? He looks like he went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson."

"I'm sure it's not that bad... I still have my ear, McKay."

"Well, maybe the freak knocked some sense into you."

Sheppard closed his eyes. He really wasn't up for this. What had transpired on the mainland was disjointed and fractured, and if he concentrated hard enough all he was left with was emotional overload: pain, fear, rage, shock and surprise. Thinking about it just made him dizzy, and all the other wonderful symptoms were eager to remind him that he had the joy of dealing with another recovery.

"Leave the colonel alone. He is still very ill," Teyla admonished their team mate.

He opened his eyes, recalling bits and pieces from hours ago and he looked at the Athosian. "You were here...earlier."

"Yes, she played nursemaid while you tried to let everyone see what your stomach looked like on the inside without an x-ray."

"Thank you," Sheppard said, struggling against the exhaustion that ate away at him.

Teyla gave him a sad smile. "I was unable to come to your aid with the others so the least I could do was comfort you during the worst."

Talking became a great deal of effort, the toll of his battle with the assassin leaving little room to combat the drugs and his body's desire for sleep.

"Rest, John. One of us will be here when you wake."

"You should...take it easy. You're still...recovering from the explosion."

"I'm doing well. I left the infirmary this morning, although my arm will take longer to heal."

"Looks like I get some much needed time in my lab since it's safe to say that no one will be going on any missions any time soon," Rodney added.

Sheppard knew his team was all banged up, but they were alive and that's what mattered in the end. He allowed the darkness to descend once again. A nurse came by to inject more medication in his IV as she explained to his visitors that one of them had to leave.

The problem with drug induced slumber was all the neat side effects on your subconscious, like an egg beater whipping up scattered images and hidden memories too terrible to deal with when you were awake. The worst were the things that you didn't see, but _felt _and the imaginary hands clamping around his throat caught him in between the planes of REM sleep.

Sheppard gasped awake, hands clawing at his neck and on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Its all right...everything's fine...just relax."

He didn't awaken fully, still battling the invisible force pressing down on his windpipe.

"If you don't cut it out, a nurse is going to come running and I know how much you love the attentions of fifty-something year old ladies.

That cranky attitude chased away the ghostly fingers and Sheppard rubbed at his eyes to get rid of the grit. "Whattimeisit?"

"English please."

"Time... numbers on a clock," he gruffed out, his good hand rubbing his throat.

"It's late."

"Can't tell."

Rodney turned off his lap top and set it down on the floor, inching closer in the chair. "If you get out of here anytime soon, which I doubt you will...you might want to wear something with a collar."

Sheppard's fingers rose to trace the neck opening of his hospital gown. "You sure know how to cheer a guy up."

The physicist shrugged. "You're the one who did the whole '_fight outside in the parking lot'_. Or, in your case, on the mainland."

"Someone had to take on the neighborhood bully."

"You forget that there is strength in numbers, Colonel."

"I could never forget that motto, Rodney."

That seemed to placate his guardian for the night and Sheppard tested out his sore jaw, wondering if he had a loose molar.

"I can get the nurse if you want."

"Maybe... in minute."

He was getting tired again, his body letting him know that it wasn't ready to fire on all cylinders yet. "When I get out of here and back on flight status... I'll show you some maneuvers, if you want."

Rodney's eyes lits up. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"That the drugs talking or you loopy from pain?"

Despite how much it hurt, Sheppard grinned. "Never know when we'll need you in a pinch."

"Is this besides every time something breaks or you need some impossible miracle solution?"

"Got to practice...just in case...we have to cover each other's jobs."

Rodney snorted. "Yeah, you get working on the PhD at the end of your name and then we'll talk about doing a switcharoo in a crisis."

"Get...right on...that."

"Are you waiting for your whole body to be on fire before asking for the good stuff?"

"Shut up, Rodney... and... go get me the nurse."

Sheppard closed his eyes, knowing when he fell asleep that he didn't have to worry whether he was going to wake up again.

* * *

Elizabeth sat behind her laptop, fingers aching from the recent reports concerning the last few days. Her recommendations for stepping forward with an alliance with the Genii were lacking in clear mission directives since many of her decisions on the matter rested on the conversation she was about to have. Her ears burned from the constant feedback from Colonel Caldwell and Major Lorne regarding their opinions on the matter. John wasn't in any shape to give his analysis on the situation and, while she valued both Rodney and Ronon's two cents, they shared too much mistrust.

She was sick and tired of being the lone lighthouse in this part of the galaxy; they would not follow in the same footsteps of the Ancients, isolated and alone in their fight.

Ladon knocked and she signaled for him to enter; he came alone, thankfully having left behind his talking heads. This time it was just the two of them and, with luck, it would prove to be a refreshing discussion.

"Dr. Weir, I'm glad we'll have a chance to talk before I head out," he said as he took an offered chair.

"I'm glad to hear that Mr. Pelmon will be making a complete recovery and that'll he'll be able to return to his duties again."

The leader of the Genii smiled, pulling on his bruised and stitched up face. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to hold his council in an objective manner after this week and I again apologize for his behavior during the crisis."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's all right, the incident forced my security staff to improve inspection and safety measures when it comes to searching for loaded weapons."

Ladon's stoic grin grated on her nerves; his cool and casual manner spoke of a man who was either completely unaware of the treachery of his own people or who was comfortable with deceit and mind games, the hallmark of the Genii tradition. Elizabeth felt neither choice was acceptable.

"Just how did Larkin get explosives past my men? A gun is one thing, but a bomb? I just don't think my MPs are that sloppy."

The Genii would make out like bandits on card night. Ladon didn't even blink. "I'm not sure, but I imagine it was concealed inside his belt and buckle; we tried that a few times during other missions. It doesn't take much material, but, as you know, the blast was too low level, hence the reason we've always been interested in your C-4."

"So you knew."

"No, I was never aware of his plans. It wasn't until the bomb exploded that I put two and two together."

"Why play dumb Ladon? It doesn't behoove you."

"What leader would ever want to let on that members of his inner circle plotted such treachery? It wouldn't exactly put me in a position of power."

"But letting us think that it was Voulsh all along and that we allowed you to be placed in danger would what? Earn you sympathy points?"

"I thought I'd let it all die with Voulsh and we could close another chapter on our history."

Elizabeth relaxed, now calm as the man in front of her. "I don't like lengthy novels that go over the same old plots."

"Why don't we start a new page with the arrests of those responsible for hiring Voulsh? My investigation carried a lot of momentum after the bombing and I have as much at stake as you do. The people who plotted to kill the colonel had their hands on this; flushing out the rest of Cowen's loyalists will benefit us both."

She tapped her finger on the side of her keyboard and pulled out a data chip. "This is a code you can use to contact us in the future. _Make sure_ it doesn't get into the wrong hands."

Ladon accepted the peace offering. "I'll make sure that this is safeguarded and that only a select few will be aware of Atlantis' existence."

"I'm counting on that."

"In the meantime, I'll keep you informed about our investigation. You'll see that our justice is swift and that those responsible for Colonel's Sheppard's injuries are made to see it as well."

"A review of your reports would be acceptable," Elizabeth said, standing up from her seat.

"I look forward to meeting with the colonel when he is feeling better."

Considering the circumstances surrounding John's infirmary escape, Elizabeth wasn't sure when both men would share a real conversation. "I certainly hope that will happen."

The Genii leader didn't remark about her cryptic response and she didn't offer up anything else, since her own report concerning the matter was still incomplete. Ladon exited her office under the best conditions since they'd meet the militaristic people and she slumped back in her chair, praying that one day their encounters wouldn't require the skills of a chess champion.

She still planned on visiting John now that he was in stable condition, but she didn't want to face him until the meeting with Caldwell and that was something she definitely wasn't looking forward to.

* * *

Colonel Caldwell strolled the halls of Atlantis, deep in admiration and awe of such a beautiful and formidable city. It was every commander's dream; majestic, imposing, alluring and a wealth of military and intellectual spoils. He held his chin higher as he roamed the magnificent base; the very aura of the great Ancient stronghold demanded respect and deserved to be protected.

He clutched the data pad in his hand, tapping it against his thigh in annoyance. He hated indecision, but he especially loathed having a conscience, and a nagging one at that. Glancing at one of the windows to observe the towers in the distance, he allowed himself the pleasure of overseeing such beauty, of being in control of something that any leader would die for. Before continuing towards his destination, he paused outside one of the gyms, observing a handful of Marines practice hand-to-hand.

He didn't know their names, but their techniques were sound as they started off with almost graceful movements that ended in a grappling and brawling for control.

"Jameson, if Ronon caught you pullin' that move, he'd wipe the floor with you!"

"Shut up, ass hat. You're the one who got his ass kicked by Teyla!."

"Shit, she can kick all of your butts!"

Caldwell chuckled to himself; the Athosian could indeed teach some Seals he knew a few lessons in defense.

The sergeant who had been giving his buddies a hard time shook his head. "We're lucky that they're both down for the count. Maybe we can get some practice in before the colonel goes back on duty."

"If you had half the brains the colonel had then you wouldn't be such a piss-poor excuse for a Marine. Who knew that the Air Force could spit out someone like Sheppard? If only half our unit had the balls he had."

Caldwell sighed, spinning on his heel, and made his way towards the infirmary, that nagging voice growing louder and more insistent in his head. He scanned the curtained areas until he glimpsed the one he was searching for. It was an oddly familiar situation, but this time there were no guards on full alert and no sense of foreboding.

The head of Sheppard's bed was raised and he tapped away awkwardly, one-handed on his laptop, oblivious to his superior's presence, making Caldwell wonder how the colonel was ever able to pull off so many tactical maneuvers when he was so easily distracted. He was about to clear his throat when the other man's posture stiffened and his back straightened to attention, even in bed.

'_Never underestimate your opponent,' _he thought. "Colonel Sheppard?"

The pilot closed his computer as he looked up. "Yes, sir!"

Caldwell waved his hand absently. "Please, Colonel, at ease."

He had waited several days before visiting to allow the man to recover a little from his injuries and to let the pilot stew a little over his predicament. Sheppard looked like he'd been mugged with the cuts and bruising that covered his jaw and eyes.

"Just writing my report now that I can think a little more clearly."

"I can't wait to compare it to my own."

Sheppard played with the end of one of his finger braces. "Well, sir--"

"--Since I know you couldn't possibly recall any of your actions after you took matters into your own hands and mishandled your pain medication."

The pilot looked up at him sharply, clearly confused by his words and Caldwell gave him an expression that told him to keep his mouth shut and to listen as he read from his data pad.

"Beckett's medical report indicates that the amount of morphine you injected adversely affected your cognitive skills and impaired your ability to make appropriate decisions."

Sheppard stared at him dumbly and Caldwell glared at him intensely. "The unusual combination of medications sent you into a paranoid and delusional state in which you stole narcotics and a jumper. You confronted Voulsh, and, with the aid of Specialist Ronon Dex, neutralized a threat to Atlantis."

"After reviewing matters with Dr's. Weir and Carson, it's recommended that you seek counseling for the psychological trauma you suffered from your attack and the constant stress of being targeted for assassination."

Caldwell closed his PDA and regarded the befuddled expression of the man before him.

"You think I want your job this way? You've got to be doing something right if a hostile enemy tries to take you out."

Sheppard's laugh was like a short bark. "Or making the wrong impression."

"You have a knack for that too, Colonel."

"Sir, I --"

"--Don't know that you're a very valued member of this expedition whose death would greatly affect his team members. You have commanded the respect of your men and those around you; don't screw it up by not recognizing your self worth. Most officers would kill for such loyalty."

"Yes, sir."

Caldwell had enough of the pep talk. "I'll be sticking around until you're back to full duty."

Sheppard nodded his head. "Of course, sir. It should be a few weeks--"

"I hear over a month. Don't do something stupid and push yourself; this city requires its commander to be at a 100 percent."

"Of course."

There was no need to linger; the pilot looked like he'd had enough for one day and it was time to adjust the team rosters exactly how he liked them.

"Get some rest, Colonel, and I expect your report to reflect our conversation."

Caldwell exited the infirmary, deciding to take the long way back to the gate room and enjoy the view from the west side. If Atlantis was his for only a short while, he was going to enjoy every moment of it.

* * *

Sheppard stood outside on the pier, annoyed that he twirled a cane in his left hand instead of a golf club. The green lay there mocking him, the tee still sticking out, wishing for someone to launch one off of it. He watched the waves crash against the city, wondering exactly how many little white balls lay on the bottom of the ocean floor and thinking he'd need to order some more on the next supply run. He couldn't practice his swing, his fingers still too messed up to grip the clubs, but next week the braces came off and he planned on visiting the shooting range.

"Sheppard."

He cringed, knowing thatAttila the Hunhad sent the big guy after him for his therapy session.

"I know... I'm late."

Ronon came up beside him, staring off into the distance. "We had a deal. If I kept the stupid cast on, you'd do what you were told."

Sheppard shook his head. "I always get the bad end of the bargain."

"You're the one who made it."

"Yeah, yeah," Sheppard complained as he spun his cane between his fingers, walking closer to the edge to peer into the deep blue below.

"Aren't you supposed to use that?" Ronon asked, pointing to the stick that was more of a distractive toy.

"You sound like McKay."

The Satedan glowered at him. "The sooner you heal the sooner you'll be cleared by the doc."

Sheppard exhaled in frustration. "My limp's not that bad and I hate this damn thing." He spun around. "Besides, you can always go out with Lorne when you're ready. Your cast comes off in a week."

"I'll wait."

The water was vast, like the skies above, another plane to get lost in and experience total freedom. Sheppard rubbed at an ache that flared up, his hand massaging the heavy Ace wrapping that helped support his thigh.

"You know... he never really said a damn thing, only mumbled something about honor and a glorious death."

"What did you expect?"

"Nothing...I dunno... guess something more."

"Words don't have as much meaning as you guys like to make them out to have. What is... just is."

_Actions, John...they recite volumes. _

He smiled, stabbed his cane into the ground and began his trek towards one of the smaller gyms he spent three times a week in with his physical therapist. "When I'm done, let's go to the mess hall. I think that one chick is working today and we can snag an extra pudding."

"You going to pretend that you need help with your tray again so she'll carry it for you?"

"I can't help it if I can't balance my cane _and _my dinner. Sometimes you have to accept help, even when it's not asked for," he said, smiling.

Ronon clapped him on his back as they strolled away. "That's something that we've all learned the hard way."

* * *

_A/N: That's it...the end. Excuse me while I take a second to thank everyone who has supported this story. This was my first long Stargate Atlantis fic and I'm ecstatic from the response and that I didn't really mess up too much. I always write for my own enjoyment, but everyone's enthusiasm was amazing and really gave me the extra boost as I finished it._

_I want to thank Beth my wonderful beta who had her hands full with extra long chapters and deadlines. You were amazing at getting these chapters back to me and giving me the support when I was ready to throw things at the computer. Thank you so very much!_

_Also a big thank you to Mandy who was invaluable when it came to reading my raw content, who was never fearful of offering suggestions, giving me advice and doing it in such detail and so quickly!_

_Lastly, a thank you to Valarie for answering all my medical questions at the beginning._

_Expect some one shots as I unwind from this extra long project. I think my husband would like to spend a little time on the computer, but I have an idea for the next larger story._


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